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ONGHLTON  S 
LEGKCY- 


HENRy  JOHNSTON 


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,      3   1822  01108  3003 
U  JOLU.  CALIFORNIA 


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DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S    LEGACY 


DOCTOR    CONGALTON'S 
LEGACY 

A   CHRONICLE   OF   NORTH   COUNTRY    BY-WAYS 


HENRY   JOHNSTON 


NEW   YORK 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 

1896 


Copyright,  1896, 
Bv  Charles  Scribner's  Sons. 


John  Wil^^on  and  Son,  Cambridge,  U.S.A. 


TO 

THE    MEMORY   OF    DEAR   FRIENDS 
WHOSE    PRESENCE   NO   LONGER   BRIGHTENS 

KILSPINDIE 


CONTENTS 


CHAP.  PAGB 

I.      THE   READING   OF   THE   WILL 3 

II.      THE   OPINION   OF   COUNSEL 1 9 

III.  MRS.    COWIE    OF   WINDY-YETT 30 

IV.  SAUNDERS   M'PHEE 42 

V.  THE      GOVERNESS      ARRIVES       AT      BROOiM- 

FIELDS 51 

VI.       A    NARROW    ESCAPE 64 

VII.  WINDY-YETT    MAKES   A    MISTAKE  ....  74 

VIII.      THE   prodigal's   RETURN 9 1 

IX.  A   ROUP   AT   SMIDDY-VARD IO3 

X.  ISAAC   KILGOUR    COGITATES II 9 

XI.  A   JOURNALIST    ON    FURLOUGH         .       .       .       .  I32 

XII.       KILSPINDIE 146 

XIII.  MRS.    COWIE'S    LIBR.ARY 160 

XIV.  LOVE-MAKING I  79 

XV.       TROUBLE    AT    BLOOMFIELDS 194 

XVI.       HETTY    HAZLET    AT    HOME 207 

XVII.       A    CHAFI'ER    OF   ACCIDENTS 22  2 

VU 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGB 

XVni.  IS.\AC    KILGOUR   ARRIVES   AT   A   DECISION     ,  237 

XIX.  n.-vture's   nurturing   and  pairing  iiiME  253 

XX.       FATEFUL   INTELLIGENCE 263 

XXI.       SETfLEMENTS 274 

XXII.  NANCE   M'WEE'S   CONFIDANTS        ....  285 

XXUI.      BELL   COWIE'S   WEDDING 294 

XXrV.      THE   RESCUE 308 

XXV.  THE   SPAE-WIFE   AND    HER    CUPS         .       .       .  32O 

XXVI.      CONCLUSION 335 


vm 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 


DOCTOR  CONGALTON'S  LEGACY 

CHAPTER   I 

THE   READING   OF  THE   WILL 

The  click  and  purr  of  the  shuttle  had  ceased. 
No  line  of  weft  had  been  laid  in  the  furrowed 
woof  during  that  still  and  sultry  afternoon. 
Tinny  Walker's  mallet  was  at  rest  beside  squares 
of  white  metal  on  the  workshop  bench,  and 
there  was  not  even  a  quiver  of  heat  at  the 
chimney-head  of  the  smithy.  Nature,  too, 
seemed  in  sympathy  with  the  general  cessation 
of  human  industry.  It  may  have  been  the 
apathy  of  the  listless  air,  but  the  twisted  silver 
lines  of  the  waterfall  at  the  Brig-end,  held  to- 
gether by  a  blue  liquid  film,  fell  more  drowsily 
than  usual  among  the  lichened  rocks.  Sliding 
past,  the  river  lipped  its  loamy  banks  with 
lingering  gentleness,  and  fretted  less  than  com- 
3 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

mon  at  the  intrusion  of  the  bleachfield  wall. 
From  nests  that  had  served  the  season's  purpose, 
and  that  were  now  well  hidden  by  the  deepening 
greenness,  youthful  and  impressionable  crows, 
not  having  heard  the  kirk  bell,  rose  and  circled 
over  the  scene  in  silent  but  questioning  observa- 
tion. No  wonder,  for  being  a  healthy  parish, 
such  occasions  of  week-day  inactivity  were  not 
frequent.  The  village  of  Kilspindie  was  scat- 
tered on  two  sides  of  the  river  Garnet,  and  was 
held  together  by  a  three-arched  bridge.  The 
bulk  of  it,  including  the  kirk  and  the  manse, 
was  on  the  same  side  as  the  general  store.  The 
candle-maker's  workshop  stood  at  the  corner  of 
the  bridge  on  the  other  side,  and  was  so  situated 
that  Robin  Brough,  leaning  over  his  half-door, 
and  looking  up  the  acclivity  to  right  or  left  on 
such  days  as  Gingham  John,  the  packman,  paid 
his  visits,  could  see  him,  with  ell-stick  in  hand, 
moving  from  door  to  door,  and  could  guess  with 
a  fair  degree  of  certainty  where  he  made  sales ; 
and  judge,  from  the  houses  at  which  he  paused, 
what  the  nature  of  the  purchase  might  be.  The 
candle-maker  was  by  habit  a  leisurely  man,  and 
nothing  loath  at  any  time  to  suspend  his  frame 
4 


THE    READING   OF   THE   WILL 

over  the  dipping-vat  and  indulge  in  surmises  as 
to  other  people's  affairs  or  gather  the  news  from 
a  passing  neighbour. 

The  central  situation  of  Brough's  workshop, 
combined  with  the  social  disposition  of  its 
occupant,  made  the  place  a  favourite  rendezvous 
for  such  as  had  leisure  to  exchange  views  on 
the  topics  of  the  hour. 

Robin  pushed  on  with  his  tea  without  loss  of 
time,  and  repaired  across  the  bridge  to  the  work- 
shop in  his  white  shirt-sleeves.  Once  inside,  he 
closed  the  lower  half  of  the  door,  and  placing 
his  elbows  on  it  restfully,  turned  his  eyes  to  the 
left.  The  mellow  air  was  charged  with  the  fra- 
grance of  hawthorn  and  apple-blossom.  Ch-ch- 
ch-chir-ee,  chir-ee  sang  the  robin  among  the 
chestnut  spikes  overhead ;  but  the  candle- 
maker  was  not  a  thinking  man,  and  did  not 
bother  with  nature.  His  eye  listlessly  followed 
the  white  ascending  road  which  ran  for  a  space 
between  green  hedges.  Further  on  to  the 
right  the  sylvan  wall  was  broken  by  a  modest 
thatched  building,  in  front  of  which  swung  a 
sign-plate,  illustrating  in  appropriate  colour  that 
the  designation  of  the  place  was  the  Wheat- 
5 


DOCTOR  CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

Sheaf  inn.  Higher  still,  a  row  of  cottar  dwell- 
ings, with  green  house-leek  shining  among  the 
grey  thatch,  challenged  notice,  until  at  Nancy 
Beedam's  cottage  on  the  one  hand,  and  Broom- 
fields  on  the  other,  the  narrowing  road  cut  into 
another  at  right  angles,  and  was  lost  to  view. 
At  first  there  was  no  human  object  in  sight, 
but  a  flash  of  moving  colour  brought  the  gazer 
back  to  the  inn,  from  which  a  woman  emerged 
with  a  number  of  labelled  bottles  in  a  small 
yellow  basket.  For  a  moment  the  unusual 
sight  of  Mistress  Izet,  the  housekeeper  at 
Broomfields,  trafficking  at  the  inn  puzzled  him. 
"  The  lawyer  will  be  biding  for  his  denner,"  he 
said.  "  I'se  warrant  the  doctor's  will  has  been 
dry  wark."  Inference  played  an  important  part 
in  the  knowledge  they  possessed  of  each  other's 
affairs  in  Kilspindie.  As  the  housekeeper 
passed,  the  sonsy  form  of  David  McLennan 
appeared  outside  his  own  door,  and  seeing  the 
candle-maker  at  his  post,  he  dashed  the  super- 
fluous ham  gravy  from  his  mouth  with  the  back 
of  his  hand,  and  stepped  down  the  brae.  At 
the  lower  end  of  the  row  he  was  joined  by 
William  Caughie,  who  wore  his  Sunday  stock, 
6 


THE   READING   OF   THE   WILL 

and  disj)layed  one  leg  of  his  trousers  partial!)- 
caught  up  in  the  hurried  fastening  of  his 
Blucher  boot.  Wilham  was  a  tall,  slim,  cold- 
rife  man,  who  bore  his  head  above  the  burly 
form  of  the  carrier,  and  seemed  to  breathe  a 
chillier  air.  Satisfied  as  to  the  approach  of 
company,  Brough  glanced  to  the  right  without 
disturbing  his  pose  of  body.  At  the  same 
moment  Tinny  Walker  and  Zedie  Lawson 
made  their  appearance  at  the  merchant's  cor- 
ner, and  so  they  came,  singly  or  in  pairs,  these 
rustic  gossips,  and  planted  themselv^cs  at  the 
end  of  the  bridge  in  front  of  the  candle-maker's 
workshop.  Each  wore  some  remnant  or  other 
of  his  Sunday  attire.  Their  manner,  both  of 
speech  and  movement,  was  characterized  by 
Sabbatic  leisure.  That  day  they  had  laid  the 
mortal  remains  of  a  notable  member  of  the 
community  in  their  last  resting-place.  A  fu- 
neral in  Kilspindie  meant  a  day's  idle-set  to  the 
male  heads  of  families.  On  these  occasions, 
there  being  time,  the  Seventh  day's  grace  was 
said  in  full  at  breakfast.  Adult  male  faces, 
lengthening  for  the  melancholy  duty  in  pros- 
pect, took  a  proportionately  longer  period  to 
7 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

shave.  Dressing  afterwards  was  done  in  lei- 
surely stages,  for  on  this  particular  day  they  did 
not  "lift"  till  one.  While  these  preparations 
engaged  the  attention  of  the  men,  the  women- 
folk with  needle  and  scissors  prepared  crape- 
bands  for  the  hats,  and  "weepers"  for  the  coat- 
sleeves,  with  subtle  appraisement  in  crape  and 
book-muslin  as  to  the  degree  of  respect  to 
which  the  deceased  was  entitled  at  the  hands  of 
the  wearers  and  their  families.  Work,  as  a  rule, 
was  not  resumed  after  returning  from  a  funeral. 
No  native  could  account  for  this  custom — it 
had  lasted  as  long  as  the  memory  could 
stretch,  and  even  steam  and  electricity  had  not 
altered  it  much. 

Dr.  Congalton,  whose  remains  had  that  day 
been  laid  in  the  kirkyard,  was  one  of  the  old- 
est inhabitants.  He  had  been  for  some  time 
out  of  practice,  but  was  justly  held  in  respect, 
for  he  had  stood  single-handed  by  the  portals 
of  birth  and  death  of  his  rural  constituency  for 
over  thirty-five  years,  bidding  welcome  and 
saying  good-bye.  The  doctor  was  a  bachelor, 
and  a  person  of  uncommon  individuality.  Na- 
tive gossip  averred  that  he  was  once  on  the  eve 
8 


THE    READING   OF   THE    WILL 

of  marriage,  but  the  match  was  broken  ofif  on 
sanitary  grounds.  The  lady's  dresses  were  too 
long  for  his  taste,  and  the  chain  of  mutual 
regard  could  not  stand  the  strain  of  his  inefifec- 
tual  desire  to  shorten  them.  Her  feet  had  no 
need  to  shame  her,  't  was  said,  but  he  declined 
to  bind  himself  for  life  to  a  person  who  not 
only  trailed  good  things  in  the  dirt,  but  made 
herself  at  the  same  time  a  circular  receptacle 
for  the  seeds  of  trouble.  Dr.  Congalton's  death 
was  the  result  of  an  accident.  Since  his  retire- 
ment from  practice  gossip  whispered  he  had 
lived  rather  freely.  At  all  events  it  was  a  fact, 
that  one  night,  on  returning  from  Windy-yett 
with  his  head  full  of  whisky  toddy,  he  drew 
rein  for  his  own  gate  prematurely,  was  thrown 
heavily  against  a  stone  wall,  and  arrived  home 
bearing  injuries  from  which  he  never  recovered. 
Dr.  Congalton,  having  enjoyed  a  long,  undis- 
turbed practice,  was  known  to  be  wealthy,  and 
while  it  was  naturally  supposed  that  what  he 
possessed  would  go  to  his  brother  George,  a 
journalist  in  London,  an  element  of  uncertainty 
had  come  on  the  back  of  this  supposition  by 
the  news  that  Windy-yett  had  been  invited  to 
9 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

the  reading"  of  the  will.  Richard  Cowie,  the 
tenant  of  Windy-yett,  was  a  keen  and  fairly 
successful  farmer,  but  outside  of  practical  farm- 
work  he  was,  as  his  wife  said,  but  a  "  puir  stock," 
and  needed  "  haudin'  in."  Mrs.  Cowie  pos- 
sessed the  power  of  doing  this,  and  exercised 
it.  But  those  who  were  observant  said  she 
could  slacken  the  reins  at  times  when  it  served 
her  purpose.  Alec  Brodie,  the  cartwright, 
whose  workshop  was  situated  about  half-way 
between  Broomfields  and  Windy-yett,  and  who 
had  opportunities  of  knowing,  was  responsible 
for  saying  that  it  was  her  hospitality  and  her 
management  that  drew  Dr.  Congalton  so  fre- 
quently to  the  farm,  and  her  toddy,  though  she 
could  not  be  blamed  for  it,  that  "dottlit"  him 
on  the  night  of  the  accident.  A  consuming  but 
smouldering  desire  to  know  something  of  the 
destination  of  Dr.  Congalton's  belongings  had 
brought  the  neighbours  to  the  Brig-end  that 
afternoon  in  considerable  numbers. 

Want  of  directness  was  one  of  the  parish 
failings.  Tilly  Brogan,  the  merchant,  who  came 
from  Motherwell  as  successor  to  Matha  Spens, 
was  at  first  put  off  his    guard    by   it.      When 

lO 


THE    READING    OF   THE   WILL 

neighbours  came  to  his  store  to  purchase,  their 
desires  were  shrouded  by  a  seeming  of  indiffer- 
ence, as  if  they  were  simply  indulging  a  curiosity 
to  price  things  —  beginning  with  articles  they 
had  no  mind  for,  and  ending  with  what  they 
actually  wanted — offering  for  it  so  much  less 
than  was  asked,  as  if  shamed  into  purchasing 
for  decency  sake,  after  giving  trouble.  As  yet 
the  gossips  were  in  the  outer  courts  of  inquiry 
regarding  what  they  had  met  to  discover.  Zedie 
Lawson  (his  kirk  name  was  Zedekiah,  and  he 
knew  this  when  his  wife  was  angry)  was  sitting 
on  the  edge  of  a  candle-crate,  looking  skyward 
over  the  bleachfield  chimney,  directed  thither 
owing  to  meteorological  observations  made  by 
the  carrier  some  minutes  pre\-iously.  Zedie  was 
a  stunted,  timorous  man,  with  a  tilted  nose,  and 
a  mouth  like  the  letter  O.  The  expression  was 
apologetic,  but  to  a  stranger  conveyed  the  idea 
that  he  was  whistling  a  tune;  being  short- 
sighted, he  was  said  to  observe  things  with 
"  mouth  and  een."  The  look  skyward,  howe\'er, 
was  mechanical  rather  than  indicative  of  exhaus- 
tive contemplation,  for  at  the  moment  he  was 
in  confused  wonderment  as  to  whether  the  new 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

laird  of  Broomfields  would  continue  the  services 
of  his  sister-in-law,  Janet  Izet,  who  had  long 
acted  as  housekeeper  to  Dr.  Congalton. 

*'  Look  nane  anxious,"  was  the  masterful  in- 
junction giv^en  to  him  on  leaving  his  own  door- 
step ;  "  fin'  oot  things  by  degrees ;  let  the  crack 
come  roun'  nait'ral,  and  no  clyte  intil  't  as  if 
we  feared  Janet  wud  tyne  her  place."  In  the 
sequence  of  discourse  the  carrier  had  passed  on 
to  remark  that  the  hay  was  requiring  the  sun 
"  after  that  lang  blash  o'  rain."  Hairmyres  had 
been  telling  him  that  the  "  feck  o'  his  was  cut 
this  time  last  'ear."  He  remembered  it  by 
"  the  bursting  o'  the  dam,  that  carried  half  the 
meadow  fu'  o't  into  the  Garnet." 

"  Hairmyres  should  mind  it  for  better  reasons 
than  that,"  the  little  tinsmith  took  liberty  to 
remark  through  his  tin-trumpet  of  a  voice. 
"His  wife  dee't  a  week  after  the  dam  broke —  I 
have  heard  tell  it  was  wi'  fricht." 

"  It  was  fricht  nane,"  remonstrated  Brough, 
declaiming  confidently  from  the  half-door.  "  It 
was  Buchan's  Domestic  Medicine  that  killed 
Jean  Lowry.  Dr.  Congalton  telt  the  schule- 
maister,  and  Mrs.  Lonen  made  no  secret  o't  to 

12 


THE    READING   OF   THE   WILL 

my  wife,  that  J  jan  Lowry  read  that  book  till 
she  had  a'  the  troubles  it  speaks  o',  ane  after  the 
ither,  and  whiles  she  had  twa're  three  on  her  at 

ae  time." 

"  And  like  enough  she  wud  be  takin'  med'cins 
and  stuffs  that  her  system  couldna  staun'," 
deplored  William  Caughie,  looking  sapiently 
through  his  horn  specs.  William  was  great  on 
human  organs  and  ailments.  "  Just  that  —  she 
took  whatever  the  book  said  was  guid  for  the 
trouble  she  had  on  her  mind  at  the  time.  What 
mortal  woman,  or  man  either,  could  thole  that? 
I  alloo  the  fricht  wud  help,  but  the  doctor  said 
when  he  opened  her  it  was  nothing  but  Buchan 
here  and  Buchan  there,  a'  through  her  inside." 

"  It  was  mortal  skilly  o'm  to  fin'  that  oot," 
Lawson  ventured,  fondly  hoping  the  colloquy 
might  now  set  on  Broomfields. 

"  The  doctor  was  an  eccentric  being,"  the 
carrier  said. 

"  That's  about  it,"  Jaik  Short  announced, 
with  approval.  Short  was  the  engine-driver 
on  the  branch  line.  Trains  had  to  be  run,  as 
he  said,  in  spite  of  fairs  and  funerals,  and  he 
had  come  over  from  the  junction,  after  stabling 
13 


DOCTOR    CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

his  steed,  to  hear  the  news.  "  Eccentric's  the 
word  —  a  wheel  wi'  a  hole  in  it  nearer  the  tae 
side  than  the  tither,  put  it  on  a  rinnin  spin'le, 
and,  my  word,  it'll  waggle.  Lod,  McLennan, 
ye  never  said  an  apter  thing  —  the  doctor 
was  eccentric.  Had  ye  a  gran'  funeral  the 
day?" 

"  A  big  gathering,"  answered  Robin  Brough ; 
"Gushets,  and  Harelaw,  General  Alexander,  the 
factor,  Robert  Thomson,  frae  Glenbuckie,  and 
ither  big-wigs.  The  minister  spoke  real  feeling." 
"  The  accident  was  enlarged  on  —  telt  us  to 
prepare,  and  the  like,"  said  William  Caughie, 
working  his  nose.     He  was  an  elder. 

"  Talking  o'  big-wigs,"  interposed  the  tinsmith, 
attitudinizing  to  check  sentiment,  "  the  biggest  in 
yon  company  the  day,  to  my  mind,  was  the  un- 
dertaker's man.  Gor  !  even  the  minister  daurna 
open  his  lips  till  he  says  the  word.  At  his  nod 
the  whisky  gangs  roun'.  Everybody  looks  to 
him ;  but  the  tap  rung  o'  his  greatness  is  reached 
when  he  clears  his  throat  and  says,  '  If  ony  body 
wants  to  see  the  corp  before  it's  screwed  down, 
come  this  wye.'  Dod,  Robin,  if  I  wasna  a 
maister  tinsmith,  I  wud  be  an  undertaker's  man." 
14 


THE    READING   OF   THE   WILL 

"  There's  no  enough  o'  ye,"  said  McLennan 
unfeehngly.  The  tinsmith,  hkc  sunie  other  httle 
people,  required  keeping  down.  "  That  job 
wants  a  big,  presentable,  sober-looking  man,  like 
William  Caughie.  Still-an-on  Walker,  yer  a 
decent  wee  fellow  compared  wi'  yon  shirpet 
body,  the  factor,  wha  walked  wi'  his  nose  i'  the 
air  as  if  he  was  immortal.  It  was  oot  o'  place 
behind  a  corp.  If  that  man  was  half  as  big  as 
he  thinks  himself,  he  wud  let  oot  for  a  saullie  " 
(hired  mourner). 

Short  had  reason  to  hav-e  a  different  opinion 
of  the  factor,  and  changed  the  subject  by  asking 
bluntly  if  anything  had  been  heard  about  the 
doctor's  will.  The  engine-driver  was  not  a 
native.  Zedie  Lawson  jumped  from  the  crate 
as  if  shot  up  by  a  spring.  He  felt  things 
would  be  redd  up  now. 

"  I  suppose  the  brither  gets  a'  ?"  Short  pre- 
sumed. 

"  Windy-yett  was  invited  to  the  reading," 
answered  Brough.     "  There's  no  saying." 

"He'll  be  a  daer "  (trustee),  the  engine- 
driver  concluded.  "  Cowie  and  tlie  doctor  were 
great  frien's.  It'll  no  astoni.-^li  me  if  he  has  left 
^5 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

his  siller  to  build  a  college  for  watching  the 
staurs,  or  for  telling  what  airt  the  win'  blaws." 

"  Think  ye  Maister  Congalton  wud  settle  in 
these  pairts  gin  he  got  the  doctor's  siller,  as  ye 
say?  "     Lawson's  opportunity  had  come. 

"Settle!  "  Short  retorted,  "did  ye  ever  hear 
o'  a  newspaper  man  settling  at  the  tail  o'  a 
junction?  Na,  na,  if  he  settles  it'll  be  some- 
where on  the  main  line,  but  Edinbro'  or  Lun- 
non's  a  mair  likely  place." 

Lawson  resumed  his  seat  dolefully.  The 
sister-in-law  after  all  was  to  be  thrown  on  them  ; 
surely  she  had  as  much  saved  as  would  pay 
them  a  weekly  allowance  for  board  and  lodging 
till  she  got  another  place.  This  thought  occu- 
pied him  heavily  till  the  smith  arrived  with 
startling  news.  That  functionary  had  been 
driven  off  in  Harelaw's  gig  after  the  funeral  to 
see  a  beast  that  was  suffering  from  pneumonia 
—  peenumonia  the  parish  called  it ;  the  school- 
master had  kept  the  smith  right,  being  a  pro- 
fessional man,  but  somehow  the  conviction 
remained  even  with  him  that  the  initial  letter  of 
the  word  was  needlessly  thrown  away.     He  was 

telling  how,  when  passing  the  cross  roads  near 
i6 


THE    READING   OF   THE    WILL 

the  cartwright's  workshop  on  his  wa\'  home,  he 
met  VVindy-yett  "  swinging  ahmg  the  gate  in 
a  terrible  swither."  The  carrier  planted  his 
shoulder  doggedly  against  the  candle-maker's 
door-post. 

"Ay,  man." 

"  His  mind  wud  be  fu'  o'  the  will,"  said  Short, 

"  He  was  like  a  man  clean  oot  o'  the  body," 
continued  the  smith.  "  Whiles  he  wud  gie  a 
hotch  o'  a  laugh,  syne  he  wud  gang  on  a  piece 
wi'  his  head  doon,  cracking  to  himsel' " 

"But  ye  buckled  to  him?"  interrupted  the 
candle-maker. 

"  Man,  he  didna  see  me  till  I  was  three  pairts 

into  his  long  shadow  that  hurried  on  before  him, 

but  I  stood;    then  he  looked  up  at  me  wi'  an 

eerie  face.      '  Getting    foret,  \Vindy-\-ctt/   quo' 

I,  wondering  if  he  was  in  drink.     Wi'  tliat  he 

raised  his  richt  hand,  brocht  it  doon  on  his  knee, 

and  botched  till  the  tears  trinkled  owre  the  nose 

o'   him.      '  Man   smith,'   says  he  to    me  at  last, 

'were  you  ever  at  the  reading  o'  a  will?'     '  Na,' 

quo'  I, '  but  it  maun  bo  fine  when  ye're  named  in 

it.'     '  Dod,  I   dinna  ken,  I  can   hardly  say  I've 

got  the  leeze  o't  yet ;  man,  yon  lang-nebbit,  auld- 
2  17 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

farrant  words  are  by-ord'nar  for  senselessness. 
It  was  first  party  this,  and  second  party  that,  and 
aforesaid  the  ither,  till  I  was  clean  dumfoonert. 
Lord,  I  wis'  the  mistress  had  been  there ;  but 
somehoo  it  rins  in  my  head  that  the  doctor  has 
left  his  ain  brither  and  the  feck  o'  his  siller 
to  oor  Bell.'  " 


CHAPTER   11 

THE  OPINION   OF  COUNSEL 

Broomfields  was  a  substantial  baronial 
building  erected  within  about  an  acre  of 
ground.  It  commanded  a  view  of  the  village 
and  the  valley  of  the  Garnet.  There  was  a 
patch  of  lawn  in  front,  broken  at  inter\'als  by 
crescents  and  squares,  in  which  pansies  and 
white  lilies  were  in  the  meridian  of  blossom. 
An  old-fashioned  garden  behind,  with  gnarled 
fruit  trees,  common  vegetables,  and  herbaceous 
plants  justified  the  inference  that  the  gardener, 
to  be  fully  employed,  must  have  other  duties 
to  perform.  It  was  a  beautiful  June  morning 
some  days  after  Dr.  Congalton's  funeral.  A 
soft  shower  had  raced  over  the  landscape,  leav- 
ing a  perfume  of  white  clover  and  sweet-briar  on 
the  relapsing  air.  A  blackbird  out  of  sight 
somewhere  among  the  blue-green  palms  of  the 
19 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

larch,  refreshed  by  the  moisture,  gave  evidence 
of  its  simple  joy  of  living  in  tones  liquid  and 
melodious.  Isaac  Kilgour,  perhaps  the  most 
taciturn  man  in  the  parish,  had  paused  in  his 
work  with  feet  enveloped  in  a  swathe  of  grass. 
Mayhap  'twas  to  listen  to  the  feathery  poet 
overhead,  or  to  revel  in  the  glorious  feeling  of 
summer  that  pervaded  the  scene.  One  had  to 
put  one's  own  interpretation  on  Isaac's  moods. 
It  would  be  contrary  to  fact  to  say  that  economy 
of  speech  necessarily  betokens  wisdom,  though 
thoughtful  people,  perceiving  the  unruly  char- 
acter of  the  tongue,  will  grant  that  there  is 
often  wisdom  in  reticence.  Isaac,  however, 
was  wise  to  this  extent,  he  did  not  allow 
indulgence  in  speech  to  betray  lack  of  knowl- 
edge. To  Mistress  Izet  he  was  a  perfect  pundit, 
nevertheless  she  was  not  slow  to  declare  that 
he  was  "a  provoking  craitur;  for  though  he 
heard  and  saw  maist  things,  he  never  let  on." 
What  his  present  thoughts  were  need  not  occa- 
sion concern,  for  they  were  soon  interrupted. 
He  had  mechanically  inverted  his  scythe,  the 
handle  resting  on  the  lawn,  and  was  wiping  the 

blade  with  a  handful  of  grass,   when  an  agile 
20 


THE   OPINION    OF   COUNSEL 

collie,  burning  probably  with  the  memory  of 
some  unrequited  wrong,  flashed  past  him  like 
a  bird-shadow,  and  next  moment  was  in  the 
throes  of  what  seemed  mortal  conflict  with 
Help,  the  house-dog,  who  was  chained  to  his 
kennel  in  the  garden  behind.  Isaac  dropped 
his  scythe,  and,  seizing  a  wooden-toothed  rake 
with  a  safely  long  handle,  literally  but  ineffec- 
tually hastened  to  tear  the  combatants  asunder. 
The  housekeeper,  who  was  amongst  the  early 
vegetables  catering  for  the  mid-day  meal,  see- 
ing Isaac's  failure  to  promote  amity  with  the 
rake,  took  up  the  broken  handle  of  a  spade,  and 
laid  on  till  her  back  ached  ;  but  the  blows  added 
fury  to  the  conflict,  which  seemed  likely  to  ter- 
minate only  with  the  life  of  one  or  other  of  the 
dogs.  While  Isaac  was  raking  and  Mistress 
Izet  was  belabouring,  a  small,  bright-faced 
figure  emerged  from  the  kitchen  door  carrying 
a  jug  of  cold  water  in  her  hand.  This  she 
proceeded  to  pour  coolly  over  the  writhing 
animals.  In  a  moment  the  conflict  ceased. 
The  intruder  passed  the  gate  like  an  arrow,  and 
Help,  as  precipitately,  retired  to  his  kennel, 
refusing  to  come  out  either  to  receive  sympathy 

21 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

or  show  the  injuries  he  had  received  in  the 
encounter.  Isaac  looked  at  the  housekeeper 
with  the  spade  handle,  and  Mistress  Izet  gazed 
at  the  gardener  with  the  rake,  while  the  girl 
stood  calmly  smiling  at  the  foolish  attitude 
of  both. 

"  VVeel,  I  declare,"  said  Mistress  Izet,  "  if  that 
wasna  like  a  wumman  in  Houston  parish. "  — 
Isaac  was  accustomed  to  the  housekeeper's 
parallels  from  Houston  parish,  and  stopped 
further  palaver  with  a  characteristic  grunt. 

"Umph'm,"  he  said,  wiping  the  perspiration 
from  his  brow  with  his  sleeve,  and  speaking  to 
the  kennel :  "That  was  clever." 

"It  was  clever  nane,"  deprecated  the  girl. 
"I've  seen  the  keeper  at  Mossfennan  doing  the 
like  mony  a  time.  It's  the  only  wye  to  pairt 
fechtin'  dougs. " 

To  their  dismay  they  became  aware  that  a 
gentleman  was  overlooking  them  from  the  study 
window,  and  that  a  bright  child  at  his  side  was 
clapping  her  hands  in  recognition  of  the  little 
maidservant's  triumph.  The  party  was  dispersed 
by  the  ringing  of  the  front-door  bell,  which  the 
housekeeper  hastened  to  answer. 

2  3 


THE   OPINION    OF   COUNSEL 

"Eh,  Maister  Sibbald,  it's  you,"  she  said, 
recognizing  her  late  master's  legal  adviser,  "  I'm 
hardly  presentable,  being  sair  flustered  wi'  layin' 
on  a  couple  o'  fechtin'  dougs.  Come  avva', 
ye'll  find  Maister  Congalton  i'  the  study." 

She  led  the  way  up-stairs  to  that  apartment, 
and  taking  the  little  girl  by  the  hand  under  the 
pretext  of  telling  her  about  the  canine  encounter, 
left  the  two  men  alone. 

By  his  last  will  and  testament  Dr.  Congalton 
had  directed  that  his  estate,  with  the  exception 
of  the  house,  which  he  left  to  his  brother,  was  to 
be  divided  into  three  equal  parts.  One  part  was 
to  go  to  his  brother,  and  one  part  to  his  niece, 
Eva  Congalton,  while  the  remaining  part  was 
bequeathed  to  Miss  Cowie,  daughter  of  Richard 
Cowic,  of  Windy-yett,  whom  the  doctor  evi- 
dently intended  his  brother  to  marry,  for  there 
followed  this  important  and  significant  stipu- 
lation, namely,  should  his  brother  marry  while 
Miss  Cowie  was  still  a  spinster,  the  whole 
estate  with  the  exception  of  the  house  was 
to  go  to  her.  Similarly,  on  the  other  hand, 
should  Miss  Cowie  marry  while  George  Con- 
galton remained  single,   her  share  was   to    be 

23 


DOCTOR   CONCxALTON'S   LEGACY 

forfeited,  and  pass  to  Eva  Congalton.  In  the 
event  of  any  of  the  parties  deceasing  before 
marriage,  the  share  of  the  person  deceasing' was 
to  be  equally  divided  between  the  remaining 
lives.  Meantime,  the  estate  had  been  committed 
to  trustees,  whose  duty  was  to  hold  and  conserve 
it  for  the  legatees ;  but  should  his  brother  marry 
Miss  Cowie,  the  trust  was  then  to  cease  and 
determine  in  so  far  as  the  senior  legatees  were 
concerned,  and  their  respective  shares  were  to 
be  placed  entirely  under  their  own  control. 

To  do  Mr.  Sibbald  justice,  he  had  no  sympathy 
with  the  doctor's  whimsical  disposition  of  his 
means.  At  first  he  had  treated  the  proposal  as  a 
joke,  due  to  some  passing  caprice,  but  the  deed 
had  remained  unaltered.  The  doctor's  thought, 
according  to  Mr.  Sibbald,  was  that  his  brother 
should  marry  again,  particularly  for  the  sake  of 
his  child.  He  felt  that  the  younger  man's  un- 
settled life  as  a  newspaper  free-lance  afforded 
him  few  opportunities  of  mingling  in  the  society 
of  women,  and  the  terms  of  the  will  had,  he 
believed,  sufficient  suggestiveness  to  lead  his 
mind  in  the  direction  of  matrimony.  As  to  the 
person  intended  for  his  wife,  the  will  left  little 
dubiety.  24 


THE    OPINION    OF   COUNSEL 

The  doctor  had  been  feasted  and  flattered 
not  with  the  expectation  of  what  had  occurred, 
but  in  the  hope  that  he  himself  might  pro- 
pose, and  thereby  bring  the  money  into  the 
Windy-yett  family.  It  can  hardly  be  said  that 
either  the  farmer  or  his  daughter  realized  the 
purport  of  these  schemes.  Windy-yett  enjoyed 
the  personal  license  and  social  amenities  which 
his  wife's  hospitality  to  their  neighbour  afforded 
him.  The  habitual  curb  was  on  these  occasions 
removed,  and  he  jogged  on  happily  with  the  driv- 
ing rein  resting  lightly  on  his  neck  —  that  was 
enough  for  him.  Bell  simply  and  unconsciously 
acted  the  part  assigned  to  her  by  the  diplomatic 
head  of  the  house.  She  was  a  rosy-faced, 
healthy,  rollicking  young  person  of  about 
twenty.  She  had  something  of  her  mother's 
activity  of  mind  and  firmness  of  temper,  but 
there  was  also  her  father's  lack  of  worldly 
ambition,  which  Mrs.  Cowie  secretly  deplored. 
Bell  was  tutored  to  be  "blyth  and  couthie"  to 
their  guest,  an  injunction  which  thoroughly 
accorded  with  her  own  buoyant  nature;  and  the 
exercise  of  these  agreeable  qualities  during  the 
doctor's  visits  had  suggested  the  terms  of  his 
25 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

will.      The  trustees,  of  whom  Mr.  SibbakI  was 

one,  had,  at  the  suggestion  of  the  latter,  taken 

the  opinion  of  counsel  for  their  own  protection. 

This  opinion  was  to  the  effect  that  the  will  was 

perfectly  valid,   and    could    not    be   set    aside. 

Such    was    the    information    the    lawyer   had 

brought   to    Broomfields.      Congalton    had    not 

doubted  the  result. 

"  The  doctor's  money  is  really  an  unimportant 

matter  to  me,"  he  said  smiling.      "He  had  a 

perfect  right  of  course  to  do  what  he  liked  with 

his  own.     But    his    humour   was   always   of   a 

grimish  order,  and  this  is  part  and  parcel  of  the 

man.     I  remember  the  night  before  he  died  — 

he    was     comparatively     free     from     pain  — 

'George,'  he  said,  after  beckoning  me  to  his 

side,  '  I  have  been  thinking  of  you  both — you 

and  the  bairn.     You  will  see  after  I  am  gone 

how  thoughtful  I  have  been  —  philosophically 

thoughtful.      I  have  not  laboured  and  saved  for 

nothing  —  money   there   will    be,    but    I    have 

endeavoured   to    put    within    your    reach    that 

which  money  cannot  buy.      Man,  you  will  be 

surprised  — •  you   will    think    me   a   rare    good 

fellow!'     He  lay  back  on  the  pillow;  he  was 
26 


THE   OPINION   OF   COUNSEL 

too  weak  to  laugh,  but  the  tears  came  into  his 
eyes  with  the  stress  of  inward  merriment.  '  You 
always  accused  me  of  want  of  sentiment,'  he 
resumed,  '  but  I  have  put  all  the  sentiment  of 
my  life  into  a  nutshell,  and  now  bequeath  it  to 
you. '     Poor  Harry  !  " 

"  I  presume  you  have  seen  this  young  lady  — 
this  Miss  Cowie,"  the  lawyer  inquired. 

"No,  I  have  not  had  that  honour.  Her 
mother,  a  bulky,  loud-speaking  woman,  called 
several  times  during  my  brother's  illness  to 
inquire  for  him.  She  was  full  of  professions  of 
concern  and  maternal  confidences.  Nothing 
would  do  but  that  I  should  break  the  monotony 
of  my  stay  at  Broomfields  by  drinking  tea  with 
them  at  the  farm." 

"The  doctor  was  not  slow  to  inform  me  that 
the  daughter  is  a  '  weel-faured  '  dame  and  very 
presentable,"  the  lawyer  said,  laughing.  "It 
would  be  an  excellent,  or,  as  I  might  say,  a 
curious  coincidental  joke  if  she  caught  your 
fancy  after  all." 

"It  would  indeed,"  Congalton  replied,  not 
insensible  to  the  humour  of  the  thought;  "but 
that  is  a  contingency  exceedingly  doubtful. 
27 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

My  mind  was  certainly  not  tending  in  the 
direction  of  matrimony,  but  even  if  it  had  been, 
so"  contradictory  is  human  nature,  that  my 
brother's  good  intentions  have  put  marriage  in 
that  quarter  out  of  the  question.  Let  matters 
drift.  Neither  of  us,  I  presume,  is  under 
compulsion  to  marry  the  other.  As  for  me,  if 
ever  I  should  think  of  marrying,  the  thought  of 
relinquishing  poor  Harry's  money  will  not  stand 
in  the  way.  Meantime,  I  presume  I  am  free  to 
occupy  this  house.'' " 

"Most  certainly.  In  express  terms  of  the 
will  it  is  your  own." 

"That  is  so  far  well.     As  yet  my  plans  are 

rather  uncertain.      I  have  a  book  of  war  sketches 

in  the  press,  and  other  irons  in  the  literary  fire 

which  will  necessitate  an  immediate  journey  to 

London.     Indeed,  I  shall  be  pretty  much  on  the 

wing  for  some  time  to  come.      I  should  like, 

however,  to  leave  my  little  girl  in  a  comfortable 

home,  to  which  I  may  return  as  occasion  permits. 

Mistress  Izet,  I  see,  is  an  excellent  housekeeper, 

and  a  motherly  woman,  but  she  is  not  exactly 

the   kind  of  person  to  train  Eva,  nor  would  I 

like  her  to  be  dependent  on  the  parish  school 
28 


THE   OPINION   OF   COUNSEL 

for  her  education.  She  wants  companionship, 
refinement,  sympathy,  but  only  a  lady  can 
judge  of  such  matters.  I  am  afraid  I  am  taking 
a  liberty,  but  if  your  wife,  of  whom  I  have  heard 
my  brother  speak  highly,  would  find  a  suitable 
person  for  the  post  of  governess,  it  would  be  at 
once  a  great  obligation  and  a  relief  to  me. "  Mr. 
Sibbald  was  sure  this  would  be  a  congenial  task 
for  his  wife. 

While  the  lawyer  was  on  his  feet,  and  ready  to 
go.  Mistress  Izet  came  in  and  announced  Mrs. 
Cowie. 

For  the  moment  Congalton  lost  sight  of  what 
humour  the  situation  contained. 

"What  is  the  woman  fussing  about?"  he 
inquired  with  ill-concealed  annoyance. 

"The  visit  may  be  congratulatory,"  said  the 
lawyer ;  "  or  it  may  be  the  curiosity  of  her  class, 
that  lacks  consideration  for  the  time  of  business 
men.  Though  I  should  say,  it  is  probable  she 
has  come  to  claim  you  as  part  of  the  doctor's 
legacy  to  her  daughter.  In  any  case,  as  I  have 
no  wish  to  be  involved  in  delicate  issues,  permit 
me  to  wish  you  good-morning." 


29 


CHAPTER   III 

MRS.    COWIE   OF  WINDY-YETT 

Richard  Cowie  returned  from  the  reading 
of  Dr.  Congalton's  will  with  his  ideas,  as  has 
been  shown,  strangely  mixed.  The  invitation  to 
meet  the  lawyer  at  Broomfields  after  the  funeral 
naturally  led  his  wife  and  himself  to  infer  that 
they  had  somehow  been  named  in  the  doctor's 
settlement.  While  the  remark  frequently  made 
by  the  latter  over  his  toddy  at  VVindy-yett,  that 
he  would  find  a  "guidman  for  Bell  some  day," 
only  gave  an  evanescent  brightness  to  the  roses 
on  Bell's  cheek,  and  a  passing  fillip  to  the 
farmer's  hilarity,  it  conveyed  a  deeper  signifi- 
cance to  the  provident  wife  and  mother.  His 
sudden  death  had  grievously  marred  her  hopes. 
Yet  here  was  a  new  element  in  the  development 
of  events  which  vastly  stirred  her  curiosity. 
Mrs.  Cowie  was  born  to  rule.  As  to  manage- 
ment, she  would  have  faced  the  National  Debt; 
30 


MRS.    COW  IE    OF   WIx\DY-YETT 

but  at  obstructed  crossings  of  purpose  she  was 
subject  to  sudden  ebullitions  of  temper.  The 
fibre  of  country  life  was  not  fine  enough  for  her; 
she  felt  she  had  thrown  herself  away  in  enter- 
ing the  nuptial  state  with  a  farmer  who  had 
no  ideas  beyond  the  rotation  of  crops.  More 
than  once  her  husband  learned  from  her  own 
lips  that  she  could  have  married  a  wool-broker, 
and  "might  have  had  a  leddy's  life  in  town"; 
and  more  than  once  he  secretly  wished  she 
had.  Her  early  desire,  to  atone  for  being  a 
farmer's  wife,  was  that  she  might  have  a  son. 
Her  plans  were  simple  and  clear.  He  was  to 
be  a  minister,  and  marry  an  heiress.  His  col- 
lege learning  would  make  him  equal  to  the  best 
in  the  land,  and,  being  his  mother's  son,  would 
ensure  a  good  marriage.  She  thought  of  sitting 
in  the  manse  pew,  or  driving  about  the  country 
side  receiving  the  respectful  salutations  of  the 
parishioners.  The  advent  of  a  daughter,  com- 
bined with  the  abandonment  later  on  of  all  hope 
as  to  a  male  successor,  was  cruelly  disappointing, 
and,  while  not  modifying  her  aspirations,  gave 
pungency  to  her  activities.  When  she  got  up  in 
the  morning,  and  "put  the  nocks  foret  "  —  this 
31 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

was  Nance  the  dairymaid's  way  of  stating  the  case 
—  "ye  might  be  sure  there  was  a  touch  o'  north 
i '  the  wind. "  The  same  authority,  often  tired  of 
unreasonable  and  vexatious  service,  said,  "If  she 
(Nance)  could  only  get  into  heaven  by  a  back 
yett  she  would  be  happy ;  but  as  for  the  mistress, 
a  front  seat  and  a  croon  wud  har'ly  serve  her." 

Mrs.  Cowie  had  sent  Bell  to  her  cousin's  at 
Brackenbrae  with  some  "swatches  "  for  summer 
dresses,  in  order  that  she  might  have  composure 
to  digest  the  news. 

The  smith's  story  at  the  candle-maker's  work- 
shop was  no  great  exaggeration  of  Richard 
Cowie's  mental  condition;  and  the  leisurely 
walk  home  between  the  fresh  hawthorn  hedo-es 
had  not  materially  aided  the  elucidation  of  the 
doctor's  intentions.  The  prevailing  thought  in 
his  mind  was  what  he  had  communicated  to  the 
smith,  namely,  that  the  doctor  had  bequeathed 
"his  brither  and  the  feck  o'  his  siller"  to  Bell. 
He  knew  there  was  some  complication  about  the 
money  being  left  in  parts  ;  but  if  Mr.  Congalton 
was  to  marry  Bell,  the  litle  girl  would  be  Bell's 
step-daughter,  and  consequently  the  whole  of 
the  money  would  be  in  the  family.     This  was 


MRS.  COWIE    OF   WINDY-YETT 

the  sum  of  the  information  which,  with  much 
mental  dubiety  and  confusion  of  terms,  he 
conveyed  to  his  w^ife.  She  was  irritated,  in  her 
eager  thirst  for  facts,  at  having  to  ask  so  many 
questions,  and  to  find  that  he  was  either  uncer- 
tain or  in  entire  ignorance  of  many  things  she 
was  dying  to  know. 

"Supposing  there  is  no  marriage  in  the  case," 
she  said,  after  trying  to  encompass  the  idea  of 
her  daughter  marrying  a  "widow-man."  "  Ye' 11 
be  able  to  tell  me,  I  suppose,  in  round  figures 
hoo  muckle  Bell's  share  is  likely  to  be  .^ " 

"No;  the  lawyer  didna  say." 

"But  did  ye  no  speir.-'  " 

"There  wud  be  no  gain  in  speiring,  seeing 
the  doctor's  siller's  in  property  and  stocks.  I 
suppose  she'd  get  a  third." 

"Ay,  and  wha's  to  divide  and  see  that  justice 
is  dune  till'r.^ " 

"Oh,  it's  to  be  boun'  up  some  gate.  Noo 
when  I  mind,  it's  to  be  i'  the  hands  o'  daers." 

"  Guid  life !  did  ever  onybody  hear  sic  havers  ; 
if  it's  to  be  in  the  hands  o'  daers,  the  siller's  no 
to  come  into  oor  hands  after  a'." 

"  Dod,  I  am  fair  bamboozled.  I  wis'  ye  had 
3  33 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

been  there yersel',  that's  what  I  said  to  the  smith, 
but  the  minister  '11  tell  ye,  he's  ane  o'  them." 

"  And  wha  may  the  ithers  be  gin  ye  ken  as 
much  ? " 

"There  are  twa  ithers  in  Airtoun  besides  the 
writer  body  himsel'  —  but  bide  awee,  guid  wife, 
whare  are  ye  gaun  ?  " 

"Stracht  to  the  manse,  where  I'll  get  the 
leeze  o'  things." 

She  was  donning  her  mantle.  Her  keen  desire 
for  information  had  stirred  the  impulse  which  her 
husband's  cooler  nature  checked,  by  reminding 
her  that  such  eagerness  "  wud  be  gey  ondecent, 
seeing  the  doctor's  corp  had  only  that  day  been 
laid  i'  the  mools. "  That  evening  in  the 
kitchen  she  made  Nance  long  once  more  for  a 
back  entrance  into  heaven,  but  she  judiciously 
avoided  her  husband  and  Bell. 

Next  day  Mrs.  Cowie  repaired  to  the  manse, 
and  excused  her  own  precipitancy  by  reflecting 
first  on  the  lawyer  for  not  being  more  explicit, 
and  then  on  her  husband  for  not  duly  inquiring 
after  their  lawful  rights.  She  learned  to  her  dis- 
may that  the  minister  had  declined  to  act  as  one 
of  the  trustees.  He  knew  the  terms  of  the  will 
34 


MRS.  COWIE    OF   WINDY-YETT 

generally,  however,  and  explained  that  the  re- 
maining executors  would  hold  the  property  in 
trust  so  long  as  Mr.  Congalton  and  her  daughter 
remained  single,  and  that  the  interest  only  would 
be  paid  to  the  parties  concerned.  It  was  esti- 
mated that  the  doctor's  estate  would  be  worth 
about  ^20,000,  at  current  prices  of  property 
and  stocks.  Her  apprehension  that  the  trustees 
might  "make  away  wi'  the  siller  amang  them," 
was  allayed  by  the  minister's  assurance  that 
the  will  was  registered,  and  that  they  would  be 
bound  to  give  count  and  reckoning  whenever 
they  might  be  called  upon  to  do  so. 

She  returned  to  the  farm  with  a  mind  some- 
what relieved,  but  diverted  into  new  channels 
of  activity.  It  was  a  comfort  that  Bell  was 
provided  for,  though  she  should  never  marry; 
but,  after  all,  what  was  to  hinder  her  marry- 
ing as  the  doctor  had  planned .''  There  were 
manifest  advantages  to  her  mind  in  such  a 
union  of  interests.  Mr.  Congalton  was  a  com- 
paratively young  man,  and  a  gentleman;  Bell 
would  naturally  rise  to  the  position  in  society 
which  she,  the  mother,  had  missed.  At  all  events 
there  was  this  p^ 20, 000.  The  man  was  used  to  a 
35 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

roving  life.  A  person  called  upon  to  follow 
armies  and  write  about  great  battles  was  en- 
gaged in  a  hazardous  occupation,  but  that  was  his 
affair.  She  could  see  that  proper  settlements 
were  made  for  Bell.  There  was  also  this  tender 
"slip  o'  a  wean,"  town-bred  and  puny,  with  no 
great  legacy  of  health.  If  anything  happened 
to  her  the  siller  would  fall  to  the  father. 

Mrs.  Cowie,  for  prudential  reasons,  only  told 
her  daughter  that  she  had  been  remembered  in 
the  doctor's  will.  These  dawning  designs  must 
be  kept,  even  from  her  husband.  She  was  not 
insensible  to  the  fact  that  they  were  sordid  and 
selfish.  They  had  crossed  her  own  mental 
survey  of  the  situation  naturally  enough,  how- 
ever, and  Bell's  future  was  to  be  looked  to.  Mr. 
Congalton  might  be  annoyed  that  any  part  of 
his  brother's  money  was  left  past  himself,  but  if 
any  such  feeling  did  exist  she  was  sure  it  would 
pass  away  when  he  knew  what  good  friends 
they  had  been  to  his  brother,  and  how  fond  the 
doctor  had  been  of  Bell.  Mrs.  Cowie  let  the 
subject  germinate,  making  mental  estimates  of 
the  possibilities,  and  then  set  out  for  Broom- 
fields.  The  question  required  management  and 
36 


MRS.  COWIE   OF   WINDY-YETT 

delicacy  of  handling,  but  want  of  personal  assur- 
ance in  such  matters  could  not  justly  be  charged 
against  her.  Isaac  Kilgour,  whom  she  met  at 
the  gate,  told  her  the  lawyer  was  in.  That  was 
fortunate.  She  would  ask  a  private  word  with 
him;  there  were  questions  still  requiring  ex- 
planation, which  neither  her  husband  nor  the 
minister  could  make  clear.  She  had  asked 
Mistress  Izet  to  announce  her  name;  surely  the 
lawyer  would  wish  to  be  introduced  to  her  as 
the  maternal  relative  of  one  of  the  legatees. 

There  was  a  long  pause,  then  she  saw  the 
man  of  law  marching  hurriedly  away,  and  imme- 
diately Mr.  Congalton  came  into  the  drawing- 
room,  where  she  sat  fondliiig  his  little  daughter 
on  her  knee.  For  the  moment  she  was  discon- 
certed. Had  these  two  men  been  conspiring 
against  Bell.?  It  looked  like  it.  Mr.  Sibbald 
had  walked  guiltily  away  instead  of  offering 
congratulations.  The  present  was  a  crucial 
moment,  and  justified  polite  simulation.  She 
acknowledged  Congalton's  greeting  with  her 
most  captivating  smile  and  her  finest  English. 
She  was  afraid  her  husband,  who  was  rather  shy, 
and  at  times  absent-minded,  had  overlooked  his 
37 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

duty,  but  it  might  be  none  the  less  fitting  that  she 
should  call  and  put  in  words  their  satisfaction 
that  any  kindnesses  they  had  been  able  to  show 
to  his  late  lamented  brother  had  not  been  for- 
gotten by  him.  It  was  an  especial  pleasure  to 
her,  that  the  remembrance  of  their  long  and 
neighbourly  friendship  had  fallen  in  this  sensi- 
ble form  on  her  daughter,  whom  he  had  known 
from  bairnhood.  Such  a  minding  was  altogether 
unexpected,  and  if  there  was  any  way  in  which 
they  could  show  their  gratitude  to  him  or  his 
daughter  he  was  welcome  to  their  services. 
Mr.  Congalton  was  too  well-bred  to  smile;  he 
received  these  diplomatic  sentences  in  a  manner 
suitably  gracious.  He  himself,  he  informed  his 
visitor,  was  going  immediately  to  London,  and 
should  be  absent  for  some  time  on  business. 

He  would  not  be  taking  his  daughter  along 
with  him  to  such  a  place  as  London,  she  was 
sure.  No  ;  how  glad  she  was  of  that.  London 
was  an  ill  place  for  tender,  motherless  bairns. 
Nor  was  Broomfields  suitable  either,  with  no- 
body but  Janet  Izet  at  its  head.  If  he  would 
leave  the  child  in  her  care  till  he  returned,  it 
would  give  them  some  chance  of  showing  the 
38 


MRS.   COWIE   OF   WINDY-YETT 

great  respect  they  all  cherished  for  the  doctor's 
memory.  Then  she  addressed  the  round-eyed, 
wondering  child  on  her  knee.  "  Ye'll  see  the 
horses  and  moos,  and  get  a  wee  lammie  to  rin  at 
your  heels;  the  caller  air  o'  the  farm  will  bring 
flesh  and  colour  to  your  bonny  wee  checks. 
Wudna  ye  like  that.^"  Then  the  child  would 
have  in  her  daughter  a  refined  and  lady-like 
companion.  Bell  was  daft  about  bairns,  having 
no  brothers  or  sisters  of  her  own.  Her  daughter's 
boarding-school  education  in  Edinburgh  (she 
had  been  six  months  there  "  finishing  "  the  scant 
tutelage  begun  and  carried  on  for  a  time  at 
the  parish  school)  would  enable  her  to  foster 
and  keep  up  the  lady-like  manners  which 
nature  and  good  upbringing  had  given  her,  but 
which  she  would  be  sure  to  lose  if  left  to  the 
housekeeper's  unaided  care.  In  thinking  back 
on  this  interview,  which  she  could  not  but  regard 
as  providential,  her  belief  was  unhesitating  that 
a  serviceable  impression  had  been  left,  and  that 
on  the  whole  she  had  made  the  most  of  acci- 
dental circumstances.  She  remembered,  but 
misunderstood  what  she  called  "the  pleased 
glint "  that  came  into  his  eyes  at  the  mention 
39 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

of  her  daughter's  name ;  and  the  thoughtful  way 
in  which  he  acknowledged  the  offer  of  their 
services  to  his  child.  The  intimation  that  he 
had  arranged  to  put  Eva  under  the  care  of  a 
governess  stimulated  regret  that  she  had  not 
been  earlier  in  the  field;  but  it  did  not  last. 
There  was  no  harm  in  his  having  a  brief  trial  of 
a  governess  —  her  daughter  had  told  her  what 
they  were.  At  all  events  he  knew  now  that  she 
and  Bell  were  willing  to  assist  and  befriend  him 
in  the  upbringing  of  his  daughter;  and  a  crisis 
was  sure  to  come. 

Mrs.  Cowie  lost  no  time  in  magnifying  Mr. 
Congalton's  good  qualities  to  her  daughter. 
"  Such  a  ceevil -spoken  gentleman,  and  such  nice 
soft  eyes."  Bell  was  like  herself,  impression- 
able, and  might  be  led,  but  certainly  would  not 
be  driven.  Ignorance  of  the  doctor's  intentions 
towards  Bell  and  his  brother  must,  for  a  time 
at  least,  be  strictly  maintained.  She  knew  the 
"  contrairiness  "  of  youth  —  a  blunt  intimation  of 
the  facts  might  spoil  all.  The  mother  expressed 
her  belief  that  he  was  sure  to  marry  soon,  and  if 
she,  Bell,  cared  for  a  grand  marriage,  with  her 

education  and  natural  charms,  there  was  n't  a 
40 


MRS.  COWIE    OF    WINDY-YETT 

young  lass  in  the  parish  would  have  any  chance 
against  her.  The  boarding  school  alumnus 
smiled  at  these  flattering  confidences.  She  was 
not  yet  conscious  of  having  worked  great  havoc 
amongst  the  hearts  of  men.  Willie  Mitchell,  a 
neighbouring  farmer,  and  she  had  been  casting 
"sheep's  eyes"  at  each  other  of  late  behind 
backs.  There  was  no  positive  love-making  as 
yet  between  them,  but  she  was  on  the  seductive 
borderland  of  ideals,  in  which  the  sedate  widower 
and  the  fresh  young  farmer  could  not  fail  to  take 
places  in  striking  contrast.  This  was  apparent 
in  her  reply  —  she  spoke  laughingly. 

"  A  proposal  from  Mr.  Congalton  would  be  a 
very  funny  thing, "  she  said  ;  "  but  when  my  time 
comes  I  want  a  young  man  or  nane.  If  the 
doctor  has  left  me  siller,  as  ye  say,  I  can  afford 
to  wait." 


41 


CHAPTER    TV 

SAUNDERS   M'PHEE 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Hazlet  had  preached  his 
last  sermon,  and  young  Mr.  Breckenridge,  the 
newly-appointed  successor,  was  to  hold  spiritual 
rule  over  the  parishioners  of  Kilbaan  in  his 
stead.  The  elder  man's  hearers  had  no  need  to 
be  shamed  by  their  tears  that  day,  for  thirty- 
four  years'  tenure  of  the  ministerial  office  had 
given  him  opportunities  of  being  with  them  in 
the  supreme  moments  of  their  lives.  He  had 
christened  many  of  them  and  married  most. 
He  had  followed  the  young  and  hopeful  as  well 
as  the  old  and  weary  within  the  churchyard  wall, 
and  now  the  evening  shadows  were  falling  on 
his  own  autumnal  day,  and  he  felt  the  light  had 
grown  too  dim  for  work.  The  hand-shaking 
was  done  mostly  without  words  at  the  vestry 
door.  Saunders  M'Phee  the  school-master  was 
42 


SAUNDERS   M'PHEE 

the  last  to  shake  hands,  and  Andra  Carruthers 
the  beadle  had  come  out  bareheaded,  having 
forgot  to  lock  fast  the  Bible  in  the  vestry  press. 
They  were  standing  side  by  side  at  the  angle  of 
the  gable  watching  the  diminishing  figures  of 
the  minister  and  his  daughters  as  they  paced 
slowly  down  the  brae  past  the  cartwright's  shed. 

"Ay,  ay,"  sighed  Andra. 

"Oh,  ay,"  replied  the  school-master.  There 
was  a  world  of  meaning  in  these  simple  words 
that  required  no  explanations.  There  was  no 
man  in  the  parish  like  Saunders  to  Andra. 
They  went  back  to  the  vestry  before  either 
spoke.  The  beadle  closed  the  gown  press  with 
a  bang  and  locked  it  to  hide  his  feelings;  then 
he  went  over  to  the  Bible,  opened  it  at  the  mark, 
and  took  out  a  small  slip  of  paper  —  "All  flesh 
is  as  grass,  and  all  the  glory  of  man  as  the 
flower  of  grass  "  —  i  Peter  i.  24.  He  held  it  out 
to  the  school-master. 

"  Nohauf  a  sheet  0'  paper,"  he  said  admiringly, 
"and  yet  he  spoke  for  an  hour  and  acht 
meenints. " 

"  Man,  man !  "  Saunders  was  not  thinking  of 
this  feat  of   extempore  eloquence,    for   he  was 
43 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

advanced  enough  to  approve  of  more  paper  and 
fewer  words.  His  feelings  at  the  moment  were 
profoundly  mixed,  but  what  appeared  to  be 
uppermost  in  his  mind  had  no  concern  with  the 
sermon. 

"Did  he  say  anything  about  the  degree?" 
Saunders  inquired  rather  anxiously. 

"Man,  he  did  that;  he  showed  me  a  letter 
from  the  Principal  with  the  college  seal  on  it. 
He  seemed  unco  prood  o't;  but  when  I  ca'd 
him  doctor,  he  smiled  wi'  a  kina  thin  smile  and 
said,  '  No,  no,  Andra,  ye  mauna  change  my 
name  at  this  late  hour  o'  the  day.  Sic  honours 
1100  are  like  dainties  to  a  body  in  sickness, 
pleasing  as  a  mark  o'  regaird,  but  like  maist  o' 
our  worldly  successes,  come  when  the  appetite 
to  enjoy  them  has  passed  away.  Besides, 
Andra,'  says  he,  and  the  smile  faded  frae  his 
lips,  '  this  honour  costs  siller,  and  is  no  to  be 
thocht  o'  by  steependless  man. '  " 

The  school-master  walked  through  the  village 
and  up  to  the  school-house  with  his  hands  behind 
his  back  and  his  head  down.  He  was  reviewing 
the  elders  one  by  one.  Brinkburn,  Meikle- 
Whifflet,  Kilbeg,  all  men  of  substance,  but  they 
44 


SAUNDERS   M'PHEE 

lacked  his  reverence  for  academic  distinctions. 
What  would  they  care  for  a  short-lived  honour 
that  involved  a  siller  payment.  Saunders  went 
indoors.  The  thing  must  not  go  abegging.  He 
warmed  his  kail  and  took  a  frugal  meal.  He 
always  made  as  much  vegetable  soup  on  the 
Saturday  with  the  help  of  a  shank  bone  as 
served  for  Sunday's  dinner. 

"  Doctor  Hazlet, "  he  repeated  several  times,  as 
if  the  sound  gratified  him.  He  took  his  Greek 
Testament  and  walked  across  the  field  behind 
the  school-house,  seeking  the  meditative  seclu- 
sion of  Balgrey  Glen. 

In  some  men  kindness  is  like  seed  cast  into 
an  unresponsive  furrow,  apparently  dead,  but  in 
point  of  fact  only  awaiting  the  springtime  of 
opportunity.  Twenty  years  before  M'Phee,  a 
broken  and  disheartened  man,  applied  for  the 
post  of  school-master  to  the  parish  of  Kilbaan. 
He  had  the  reputation  of  scholarship,  but  his 
views  were  reckoned  unsound.  Mr.  Hazlet,  then 
an  able  debater,  fought  his  case  through  the 
Presbytery,  and  succeeded  in  carrying  him  to 
the  dominie's  desk.  They  had  often  differed 
since  —  at  times  bitterly,  for  Saunders  was  a 
45 


DOCTOR  CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

strong-headed  man  and  dour  in  his  opinions, 
but  deep  down  in  his.  memory  and  out  of  human 
sight  he  treasured  this  generous  act  of  succour. 
M'Phee  read  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  in  the 
original  tongue,  and  returned  with  a  set  coun- 
tenance for  tea.  He  was  a  man  of  method,  as 
became  a  householder  who  had  to  do  his  own 
turns.  He  washed  the  dishes,  putting  the  delf 
carefully  away  on  the  dresser,  then  he  wound  up 
the  clock,  a  duty  he  performed  weekly  after 
sermon  time.  A  look  down  the  brae  towards 
the  village  was  almost  a  needless  precaution,  for 
the  heads  of  families  who  were  on  visiting  terms 
with  him  always  spent  an  hour  in  barkening 
"questions"  before  taking  "the  books."  Still 
he  wanted  to  make  sure  of  privacy.  Hearing 
the  voice  of  singing  in  Sam'l  Filshie's  satisfied 
him.  He  went  in  and  shut  the  door  —  the  sede- 
runt might  be  a  long  one,  so  he  brought  his 
stuff-bottomed  arm-chair  and  placed  it  in  front 
of  the  chest  which  sat  in  the  window  recess. 
The  westering  sun  glinted  green  among  the 
shiny  folds  of  his  well-worn  Sunday  coat,  which 
he  had  carefully  put  away  before  dinner.      The 

body  of  the  chest  served  as  his  wardrobe,   but 
46 


SAUNDERS   M'PHEE 

the  "shuttle"  was  reserved  for  other  purposes. 
This  was  his  treasury  —  his  sacred  chamber  — 
which  was  only  approached  half-yearly  when 
he  received  his  salary.  He  raised  the  hinged 
cover,  and  rested  the  lid  of  the  chest  on  the 
upper  edge  of  it.  Here  were  the  souvenirs  of  a 
lifetime,  of  little  intrinsic  value,  but  telling  to 
those  who  could  understand,  of  brief  triumphs, 
tender  hopes,  and  bitter  disappointments.  A 
gold  medal,  a  packet  of  letters  written  in  an 
ill-formed  feminine  hand,  a  lock  of  dark  hair 
tied  with  a  pink  ribbon.  He  passed  these 
reverently  to  one  side,  and  came  upon  an  old 
college  Calendar  lying  beside  some  class  tickets 
bearing  the  imprint  of  the  University  of  Glasgow, 
a  parchment  certificate  on  which  was  written, 
"  Alexandrum  M'Phee, "  marked  the  place  where 
the  regulations  for  conferring  degrees  were 
printed.  He  had  taken  this  M.A.  degree  after 
sore  travail  twenty-two  years  ago,  and  sold  his 
Greek  Lexicon  to  assist  in  paying  the  fees.  The 
journey  between  M.  A.  and  D.  D.  had  at  one  time 
occupied  his  own  day-dreams  and  seemed  an 
attainable  possibility,  but  it  had  ended  at  the 
desk  of  a  parish  school. 

47 


DOCTOR  CONGALTON'S  LEGACY 

"D.  D. "  He  came  to  the  place  at  last  He 
had  never  previously  arrived  at  the  practical 
point  of  contemplating  the  fees  payable  for  this 
honour.  He  felt  it  was  a  graceless  ordinance, 
and  unworthy  of  a  college  of  learning  that  a  man 
deserving  such  distinction  should  be  placed  in 
a  position  to  decline  it  for  a  reason  he  would  not 
own  —  his  poverty.  ^  He  laid  aside  the  Calendar 
and  opened  a  little  inner  drawer;  this  was  the 
strong  room  of  his  treasury,  containing  the  savings 
of  his  later  lifetime.  Among  the  small  heap  of 
sovereigns  there  was  a  well-worn  marriage  ring 
and  a  brooch.  These  indicated  more  than 
sentiment :  they  belonged  to  his  mother.  There 
was  also  a  newspaper  cutting  giving  a  report  of 
Mr.  Hazlet's  defence  of  the  school-master  before 
the  Presbytery.  The  paper  was  well  worn  and 
yellow  with  age.  Its  terms  were  burned  into 
his  memory,  but  he  read  them  again. 

"We've  had  our  differences,"  he  said;  "he's 
a  perfect  fule  body  in  mony  things.  To  threep 
on  me  that  the  Theory  of  Ideas  was  formulated 
by  Plato  —  and  as  for  Arminius,  the  minister's 

1  The  fees  for  honorary  degrees  in  Scotland  are  now 
abolished. 

48 


SAUNDERS   M'PHEE 

reasoning  stands  on  feeble  legs  before  Limborch, 

Le  Clerc,  and  Welstein,  still  —  an  —  on " 

He  thrust  his  hand  in  among  the  sovereigns  and 
counted  one,  two,  three,  four,  up  to  twenty. 
He  shut  the  lid  of  his  treasury  and  locked  the 
chest.  Then  he  rose  and  placed  the  sovereigns 
under  his  pillow. 

Later  in  the  dusk  of  that  June  evening,  after 
he  had  sung  four  verses  of  the  2nd  Pharaphrase, 
he  addressed  the  Deity  on  his  knees.  It  could 
hardly  be  called  a  prayer  —  it  was  rather  an 
expositorial  statement  of  his  feelings,  the  in- 
tensity of  which  demanded  the  vernacular  to 
give  it  fitting  expression. 

"It's  no  Plato —  it's  no  Aristotle  —  though  in 
spite  of  what  the  minister  may  say  he  has  the 
richt  grip  o' the  Theory  of  Ideas.  It'snothatman 
Calvin,  nor  yet  Arminius,  — still  wi'  reverence 
be't  spoken,  the  latter,  to  my  mind,  understands 
Thee  best,  — but  it's  Thoo  Thyscl'  we  have  to  do 
wi',  and  in  Thy  sicht  we  are  puir  craiturs  at  the 
best,  D.  D.  or  no  D.  D.  This  worldly  honour 
has  fair  ta'cn  my  haed.  I  had  early  set  my  ain 
hert  on't,  but,  as  the  Psalmist  says,  '  Remember 
not  the  sins  of  my  youth ;  '  since  it  canna  come 
4  49 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

to  me  let  it  fa'  to  the  minister.  He  canna  tak' 
a  broad  survey  o'  truth  like  Arminius,  but  he 
was  the  instrument  in  Thy  hand  o'  doing  me  a 
good  turn  when  my  enemies,  perfect  Bulls  o' 
Bashan,  were  like  to  destroy  me.  As  for  Andra 
Carruthers,  I  like  him  weel,  but  he  is  a  puir 
stock  —  naira,  naira,  even  nairaer  than  the  min- 
ister; but  he'll  maybe  mend  under  this  new  Mr. 
Breckenridge  —  let  us  hope  the  best  for  him. 
Whatever  happens,  may  '  Thy  Kingdom  come, 
and  Thy  will  be  done  on  earth  as  it  is  in 
Heaven,'  and  that'll  mak'  a  michty  change. 
Amen." 


50 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  GOVERNESS  ARRIVES  AT  BROOMFIELDS 

No  one  ever  knew  the  sacrifice  Saunders 
M'Phee  had  made,  but  the  minister  got  his 
degree.  He  had  rehnquished  the  manse  for  a 
small  cottage  and  a  meagre  retiring  allowance. 
Such  social  catastrophes  leave  little  room  in 
practical  minds  for  sentiment.  The  household 
consisted  of  the  minister,  his  wife,  and  two 
daughters.  Their  slender  income  might  with 
thrift  serve  for  three,  but  a  fourth  would  straiten 
it  for  all.  This  view  had  no  place  in  the 
thoughts  of  the  parents,  but  to  the  daughters  it 
was  present  from  the  moment  the  door  of  the 
manse  had  closed  behind  them.  Hetty,  the 
younger,  was  the  more  accomplished  of  the  two. 
She  had  a  good  English  education,  spoke  French 
and  German,  played  and  sang,  and  had  some 
knowledge  of  painting  and  drawing.  As  yet  no 
51 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

one,  with  the  exception  perhaps  of  her  sister 
Violet,  knew  the  mental  force  and  moral  fortitude 
of  this  gentle,  dark-eyed  little  woman.  She  was 
full  of  resource,  and  capable  of  the  most  com- 
plete self-effacement  in  the  interests  of  those 
she  loved.  It  was  she,  therefore,  who  resolved 
to  face  the  world  and  seek  independence  for  the 
family  good.  Nevertheless  it  was  not  without 
silent  tears,  and  a  keen  sense  of  impending  sep- 
aration that  she  sat  down  to  respond  to  Mrs. 
Sibbald's  advertisement  in  the  county  news- 
paper. Two  days  afterwards  a  letter  was 
received  inviting  the  applicant  to  an  interview. 
For  a  brief  space  the  family  serenity  was  dis- 
turbed. The  parents,  for  obvious  reasons,  had 
been  kept  in  ignorance  of  the  schemes  that  were 
taking  shape  in  the  minds  of  their  girls.  They 
were  not  insensible,  however,  to  the  kindness  of 
their  purpose,  and  to  the  practical  wisdom  of 
the  steps  they  had  taken  when  these  became 
known.  The  interview  was  satisfactory  on  both 
sides,  the  inevitable  breach  in  the  home  circle 
was  made  with  as  little  fuss  as  possible,  and  with 
a  brave  heart  the  little  governess  responded  to 
the  call  of  duty  which  led  her  to  Broomfields. 
52 


THE    GOVERNESS   ARRIVES 

Eva  Congalton  was  a  pale,  sweet-faced  little 
girl,  gentle,  sensitive,  and  exceedingly  impres- 
sionable. At  the  age  of  six  she  lost  her  mother. 
Immediately  thereafter  she  was  placed  under 
the  care  of  a  maiden  gentlewoman  who  kept  a 
school  for  girls  in  Kent  to  supplement  an  income 
rendered  inadequate  for  her  own  maintenance 
by  the  extravagance  of  a  prodigal  brother.  She 
was  nearly  two  years  under  Miss  Vanderbilt, 
but,  being  most  of  the  time  in  delicate  health, 
had  learned  almost  nothing  systematically.  She 
could  read  and  write  indifferently,  was  rapid  at 
mental  arithmetic,  but  woefully  deficient  even  in 
the  rudiments  of  religious  knowledge.  Her 
father,  who  was  the  son  of  Scottish  parents, 
was  educated  in  Scotland,  but  he  had  revolted 
against  the  Scotch  system  of  cramming  the 
young  mind  with  dogma  and  doctrine  before  it 
was  capable  of  understanding  their  meaning. 
His  daughter's  religious  training,  or  want  of 
it,  was  the  result  of  this  revulsion.  Mistress 
Izet's  trustful  and  simple  orthodox  mind  was 
on  more  than  one  occasion  sorely  disturbed 
before  the  governess  came.  To  her  this  little 
girl  was  a  deplorable  phenomenon  —  a  harassing 
53 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

enigma  which  puzzled  and  vexed  her.  While 
Eva's  health  had  not  permitted  her  to  pursue 
any  systematic  course  of  lessons,  she  had  picked 
up  scraps  of  the  information  which  Miss  Vander- 
bilt  lavished  on  her  girls. 

One  day  while  the  housekeeper  was  engaged 
preparing  dinner,  Eva,  who  was  turning  over  the 
leaves  of  a  picture  story-book  beside  her  in  the 
kitchen,  suddenly  inquired  — 

"Where  is  Agricola's  Wall?" 

"Wha's  wall?" 

"  Agricola's." 

"  Wha  was  Agricola?"  inquired  the  house- 
keeper, taking  a  glance  at  the  child's  book  — 
"  Div  ye  see't  there?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  he  was  a  Roman,  and  built  great 
walls.  Miss  Vanderbilt  said  there  were  some  in 
Scotland." 

"  Chaipels,  likely,"  retorted  Mistress  Izet 
dryly.  "  Scotch  folk  dinna  like  the  Romans  — 
they  are  maistly  Irish,  and  no  to  be  lippened 
till." 

"  I  don't  understand,"  said  the  child,  tossing 
the    sunny  hair  out  of   her  eyes,   and   looking 
puzzled.     "They  built  great  walls." 
54 


THE    GOVERNESS   ARRIVES 

"I  wudna  say;  they  arc  mason's  labourers 
and  the  hke  for  the  maist  pairt;  but  wait  till 
harvest  time,  and  ye'll  see  great  droves  o'  them 
raking  through  the  county  seeking  shearing." 
This  was  very  different  from  the  character  given 
to  them  by  Miss  Vanderbilt,  and  Eva  looked  as 
if  there  was  some  misapprehension  —  some  dis- 
crepancy. "  They  are  folk  wi'  a  different  religion 
frae  us,"  further  explained  Mistress  Izet. 

"What  is  religion?"  queried  the  child,  in- 
nocently. 

"  Preserve  us  the  day  —  docs  the  wean  no  ken 
what  religion  is?"  She  had  only  found  a  par- 
allel once  to  such  ignorance  in  Houston  parish 
but  she  suppressed  the  exclamation.  "  Did  that 
Miss  Vanderbilt  you  speak  o'  no  gang  to  the 
Kirk  on  Sabbath  day?  " 

"  What  is  the  Kirk,  and  what  is  the  Sabbath 
day?  " 

The  housekeeper  threw  up  her  hands  and 
dropped  eyes  of  pity  on  this  precocious  item  of 
heathendom.  "  Puir  bairnie,"  she  said,  gazing 
tenderly  on  the  motherless  outcast,  "it's  time 
we  had  ye  at  your  Question  Book.  The  Kirk  is 
God's  hoose  —  the  Gates  o'  Zion ;  and  the  Sab- 
55 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

bath  is  the  Day  o'  Rest  —  the  Lord's  Day,  when 
we  cease  frae  oor  labours — '  for  in  it  thou  shalt 
not  do  any  work,  thou,  nor  thy  son,  nor  thy 
daughter,  thy  man-servant,  nor  thy  maid-servant, 
nor  thy  cattle,  nor  the  stranger  that  is  within 
thy  gates,  for  in  six  da}^s  the  Lord  made  heaven 
and  earth,  the  sea,  and  all  that  in  them  is,  and 
rested  the  seventh  day :  wherefore  the  Lord 
blessed  the  Sabbath  Day  and  hallowed  it' " 
Mistress  Izet  ran  herself  out  of  breath  to  insure 
continuity.  She  had  committed  the  words  to 
memory  when  a  child,  and  feared  now  that  any 
pause  might  lead  her  to  mix  them  up  with  other 
catechetical  answers  which  still  lingered  in  the 
recesses  of  her  memory.  "  Ye  see  ye're  forbidden 
to  work  on  the  Sabbath  day." 

"  Oh,"  cried  Eva,  brightening  with  comprehen- 
sion, "  that  would  be  like  the  day  we  had  no 
lessons.  We  called  it  Sunday,  and  Miss  Vander- 
bilt  went  to  chapel." 

"  Puir  lammie  !  What  an  upbringing  for  a 
child,"  thought  Mistress  Izet.  This  accounted 
to  her  mind  for  the  question  about  the  Roman 
wall,  clearly  some  Jesuitical  way  of  talking  about 
a  Catholic  Chapel.  From  that  time  forward  the 
56 


THE   GOVERNESS   ARRIVES 

simple  and  honest  housekeeper  drew  largely 
upon  her  store  of  biblical  and  other  knowledge, 
to  counteract,  if  possible,  the  baleful  influences 
of  Miss  Vanderbilt's  neglect. 

One  night  before  the  arrival  of  the  governess, 
Mr.  Congalton,  in  passing  his  daughter's  bed- 
room to  his  own,  heard  suppressed  crying.  On 
going  in  he  found  the  child  sobbing  under  the 
clothes,  and  her  pillow  wet  with  tears. 

"Eve,  darling,  what  is  the  matter?"  he  in- 
quired in  serious  concern. 

"  Oh,  papa,"  she  cried,  putting  her  arms  round 
his  neck  and  hugging  him  close,  "  I  am  so  un- 
happy because  I  have  got  no  lamp." 

"  A  lamp,  my  dear  child,  what  would  you  do 
with  a  lamp?  " 

"  Mistress  Tzet  says  we  must  all  have  lamps 
like  the  wise  virgins;  and  if  we  are  good  we 
must  have  oil  in  them,  so  that  when  the  bride- 
groom comes  at  night  we  must  light  our  lamps 
and  go  out  to  meet  him.  Oh,  papa,  I  am  afraid 
if  I  have  no  lamp  and  no  oil,  I  shall  fall  in  the 
dark,  and  not  get  into  heaven  at  all." 

"  My  dear  child,"  he  said,  seating  himself  on 
the  bed  and  wiping  the  moist  cheeks  tenderly, 
57 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

"that  is  a  very  pretty  story  of  the  marriage  cus- 
toms in  an  eastern  country"  —  he  recapitulated 
it  simply  and  briefly,  —  "  but  there  are  no  such 
marriages  here.  Mistress  Izet  meant  you  to  be 
a  good  little  girl,  and  always  to  do  what  is  right ; 
but  it  is  all  nonsense  about  oil  and  lamps  and 
going  out  at  night  in  this  cold,  miserable  cHmate 
of  ours." 

"Then  I  need  not  have  a  lamp,  papa?  —  I 
would  like  so  much  to  get  into  heaven." 

"You  need  have  no  fear  of  getting  into  heaven," 
he  said,  smoothing  her  sunny  hair,  "  and  when 
you  go  God  will  take  you  there  in  the  light.  But 
you  must  go  to  sleep  now,  and  grow  big  and 
strong,  for  papa  wishes  to  keep  his  dear  little 
Eve  to  himself  for  a  long,  long  time." 

"  But  I  am  trying  very  hard  to  be  good,"  she 
said  brightly.  "  I  am  learning  the  Question 
Book.  Oh,  papa,  can  jou  say  the  '  Chief  end  of 
man'?" 

Curiously  enough  Mr.  Congalton  had  a  talk 
that  afternoon  with  the  school-master  on  the 
stern  and  exclusive  character  of  religious  beliefs 
in  the  Scottish  Church.  "  What  are  creeds  for?  " 
he  had  inquired,  "  but  to  make  their  believers 
58 


THE   GOVERNESS  ARRIVES 

Christ-like.  If  a  man's  life  is  pure,  unselfish, 
and  devout,  do  not  despise  him  because  of  his 
creed,  or  albeit  he  professes  none,  for  creed  may 
be  the  husk  of  hypocrisy." 

The  unconscious  humour  of  the  child's  inquiry 
brought  a  momentary  smile  to  his  lip.  "  My 
darling,  your  head  must  not  be  troubled  with 
these  things  now,"  he  said  gravely;  "I  must 
forbid  Mistress  Izct  giving  you  any  more 
lessons." 

"  But,  papa,  don't  scold  her,  for  —  for  you  don't 
know  what  might  happen  —  perhaps  she  might 
wish  to  die." 

"  Nonsense,  Eve,  why  do  you  suppose  such  a 
thing?" 

"  Because,  papa,  she  told  me  last  Sunday  that 
all  good  people  are  —  oh  —  so  happy  after  they 
die;  and  if  you  were  to  be  angry  with  her  she 
might  wish  to  leave  her  place  and  go  to 
heaven." 
'  Mr.  Congalton  made  no  further  remark,  but 
tucked  the  clothes  in  snugly  about  the  little 
shoulders,  and  soothed  her  with  his  presence  till 
she  fell  asleep.  His  remonstrance  with  the 
housekeeper  was  firm  and  final.  Mistress  Izct 
59 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

felt,  considering  the  child's  benighted  condition, 
that  her  zeal  had  been  but  ill-requited,  and 
retired  to  the  kitchen  indulging  a  frame  of  mind 
which  constituted  a  sufficient  barrier  to  the 
immediate  translation  which  Eva  feared. 

One  morning  some  days  afterwards  the  father 
was  startled  by  Eva's  sudden  appearance  in  his 
study.  She  had  been  so  restless  at  night  that  he 
had  given  the  housekeeper  permission  to  sleep 
with  her,  carefully  forbidding  conversation  on 
religious  subjects.  There  was  an  expression  of 
mingled  regret  and  pleasure  on  her  face  as  she 
stole  up  to  his  ear  and  whispered  — 

"  Mistress  Izet  will  not  want  to  die  now!' 
Then  her  eyes  darkened.  "  Oh,  papa,  do  you 
know  she  is  a  very  wicked  woman  !  " 

He  put  down  his  proof-sheets,  and  looked 
earnestly  into  the  troubled  face  —  "  No,  Eve,  I  do 
not  think  she  is  a  very  wicked  woman.  Why  do 
you  say  so?  " 

"  Because  I  heard  her  speaking  to  some  one 

in   the   middle   of  the   night."   she   replied.     "  I 

looked  out  of  bed,  and  saw  her  on  her  knees  at  a 

chair.     She  said,  oh,  such  dreadful  things  about 

herself  that  I  was  afraid.     She  was  a  worm  —  all 
60 


THE   GOVERNESS   ARRIVES 

wounds  and  —  and  bruises  —  deceitful  —  dread- 
fully wicked,  and  —  such  a  lot  more." 

This  was  a  sacramental  period.  Janet  always 
abased,  if  she  did  not  abuse  herself  miserably 
in  her  prayers  about  Sacrament  time. 

"  My  dear,"  he  said,  "  Mistress  Izet  is  a  really 
good  woman.  Perhaps  she  had  a  bad  dream 
and  was  speaking  in  her  sleep.  People  some- 
times speak  in  their  sleep  when  they  are  dream- 
ing, and  say  things  they  don't  mean,  and  that 
are  not  true."  He  understood,  but  how  could 
he  explain  to  a  child?  It  was  clear  to  him, 
however,  clearer  now  than  it  had  ever  been 
before,  that  his  daughter  required  other  tuition 
and  other  companionship. 

From  the  first  Eva  took  to  her  governess. 
They  had  lessons  in  the  morning,  rambles  in 
the  fields  and  green  lanes  before  dinner,  music, 
sewing,  and  games  in  the  afternoon.  She  was 
wonderfully  methodical,  this  little  daughter  of 
the  manse  —  everything  in  its  order,  but  noth- 
ing overdone,  always  leaving  off  while  there  \-et 
remained  a  mental  appetite  for  more.  Mr. 
Congalton  wrote  regularly  to  his  daughter,  and 

encouraged    her    to    write    to    him    in     return. 
6i 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

These  letters  were  always  submitted  to  Hetty 
for  revisal,  and  as  often  as  not  they  required  it. 
This  is  what  she  brought  one  day  for  approval. 

"  Dear  papa,  wunt  you  come  horn  when  the 
buke  you  told  me  about  is  finished?  It  wood 
be  so  awfuly  nice  to  have  you  at  horn.  You 
could  go  with  us  to  the  woods,  and  other  nice 
places.  Miss  Hetty  wood  tell  you  all  about 
the  wild  flours  and  things.  She  knows  such  a 
lot.  My  dear  papa  she  must  allways  stay  with 
us.  I  am  sure  you  wood  like  her  so  mutch  you 
wood  never  go  away  agane.  We  went  to  the 
farm  yesterday  —  the  one  with  the  funy  name 
—  Mrs.  Cowy  was  allways  asking  us.  We  had 
scons  and  milk,  and  then  she  toke  me  to  a 
rume  by  myself  and  asked  if  I  was  hapy,  and 
if  I  was  not  tirred  of  lesons.  Then  she  said 
wood  I  not  like  a  nice  kind  mama,  but  I  told 
her  I  was  never  tirred  with  my  lesons,  and 
wanted  only  Miss  Hetty  and  you."  The  child's 
eyes  sparkled  with  anticipation  of  approval. 
She  was  quick  to  apprehend  looks. 

"What,  will  it  not  do?"  she  inquired   as  she 
saw  Hetty's  flushed  face. 

"No,  Eva  dear,  it  is  very  kind,  but  you  must 
62 


THE   GOVERNESS    ARRIVES 

not  speak  of  me  thus  to  your  father.  Then  it 
will  not  do  to  report  gossip,  you  know  —  Mrs. 
Cowie  was  very  good  to  us." 

"I  do  not  like  Mrs.  Cowie,"  said  Eva  firmly; 
"I  —  I  don't  think  she  is  a  lady." 

"  Oh,  Eva,  that  is  not  like  you." 

"I  am  sorry  —  but  I  did  not  tell  you  all  — 
she  said  something  about  you " 

"  Oh,  country  people  are  outspoken  some- 
times," Hetty  interrupted,  "  and  do  not  quite 
mean  all  they  say.  You  must  not  allow  your- 
self to  think  ill  of  Mrs.  Cowie.  I  am  sure  your 
father  would  not  like  us  to  talk  about  people 
unkindly.     Come  and  let  us  try  again." 

They  took  hands  and  danced  laughingly  back 
to  the  school-room,  where  between  them  the 
letter  was  recast  —  as  it  had  much  need  to  be 
—  in  less  suggestive  terms. 


63 


CHAPTER   VI 

A  NARROW  ESCAPE 

To  Hetty  Hazlet  the  new  life  at  Broomfields 
was  a  busy  one,  and  brought  with  it  the  happi- 
ness that  accompanies  useful  activity.  Now 
and  again  Eva  would  startle  her  teacher  by 
questions  as  to  the  action  of  the  moon  on  the 
tides,  the  people  who  live  in  the  planet  Jupiter, 
the  kind  of  breath  the  flowers  breathe,  and 
other  matters  suggestive  of  Miss  Vanderbilt; 
but  Hetty  discouraged  all  irrelevant  discourse 
by  telling  her  that,  interesting  as  these  sub- 
jects might  be  to  the  elder  girls  for  whom  her 
early  teacher  intended  them,  she  could  onh' 
reach  and  know  them  by  diligently  following 
the  course  of  instruction  now  prescribed  for 
her.  The  thirst  for  higher  knowledge  was  thus 
made  an  incentive  to  overcome  the  rudimentary 
difficulties  that  formed  her  every-day  task. 
64 


A    NARROW    ESCAPE 

Hetty's  influence,  exerted  primarily  in  the 
school  and  play-room,  soon  radiated  and  filled 
a  wider  circle.  Mistress  Izet  had  so  long  been 
without  a  rival  in  the  house,  that  naturally  the 
presence  of  the  governess  was  at  first  a  trifle 
disturbing,  probably  from  her  fear  of  divided 
authority.  But  when  she  realized  that  this 
authority  applied  only  to  the  child,  and  saved 
her  the  ordeal  of  answering  embarrassing  ques- 
tions, she  breathed  more  freely.  Before  the 
advent  of  the  governess  Mrs.  Izet  complacently 
thought  she  coidd  give  a  good  reason  for  her 
own  simple  faith,  but  the  child's  eager  and 
puzzling  inquiries  when  the  housekeeper  came 
to  close  quarters  with  herself  stimulated  humility. 
Hetty  knew  her  place,  and  kept  it  with  pru- 
dence. Her  comings  and  goings  were  clieerily 
sympathetic.  Association  with  refinement  had 
been  no  part  of  the  elder  woman's  experience, 
and  Hetty's  courteous,  practical  manners  soon 
won  her  confidence.  Trust  once  established 
makes  the  reception  of  new  ideas  easy:  Mrs. 
Izet  learned  many  things  from  the  governess 
without  awaking  the  consciousness  of  being 
taught,  so  it  happened  in  time  that  the  younger 
5  ^'5 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

woman,  not  by  assumption,  but  by  the  inevi- 
table influence  of  the  superior  over  the  inferior 
mind,  became  practically  the  controlling  spirit 
of  the  house.  Isaac  Kilgour,  on  the  other  hand, 
stood  apart  in  his  superior  masculinity.  He 
regarded  the  new-comer  as  probably  a  suitable 
mentor  and  companion  for  his  master's  child, 
but  he  had  not  an  exalted  opinion  of  her  sex 
generally.  He  was  not  unconscious  that  they 
became  wonderful  creatures  sometimes  in  books, 
but  he  felt  that  that  was  largely  the  outcome 
of  imaginative  minds.  For  his  own  part  he 
had  never  yet  met  the  woman  he  could  canon- 
ize. That  they  were  useful,  almost  essential 
to  man's  well-being  in  the  minor  details  of 
life,  he  was  willing  to  concede,  but  that  they 
were  also  at  the  root  of  most  of  his  moral  ills 
and  perplexities  was  borne  in  upon  him  by 
his  own  observation.  Isaac  lived  in  a  single 
apartment  above  the  coach-house.  His  sole 
companion  was  a  parrot.  It  had  capacity  for 
speech,  but  all  it  could  say  when  it  came  to 
Broomfields  was  — "  Irr  ye  there?"  He  got 
it  from  a  Paisley  man,  who  plumed  him- 
self on  the  purity  of  his  accent.  The  bird 
66 


A   NARROW   ESCAPE 

was  no  favourite  with  the  housekeeper,  but  she, 
in  her  comings  and  goings,  was  unconsciously 
responsible  for  most  of  the  words  it  knew. 
Isaac  reasoned  that  this  accounted  for  "  tlie 
bruit's  ill-tongue." 

The  gardener  was  a  hale  man  all  week  round, 
but  had  rheumatics  on  Sundays.  The  main 
cause  of  this  ailment  was  his  distrust  of  the 
minister.  It  was  then  the  bird  and  he  had 
their  sweetest  communion. 

"  It's  no  muckle  to  look  at,"  Mrs.  Izet  was 
saying  to  the  governess  as  she  took  her  and  Eva 
up  to  Isaac's  quarters  one  day  in  his  absence, 
"  but  it  has  an  oncommon  tongue."  The  parrot 
was  a  small  ash-grey  bird  about  the  size  of 
a  pigeon,  with  a  broad  crimson  tail.  The  house- 
keeper's voice  startled  the  creature  into  activity. 
It  made  a  sudden  circuit  on  the  upright  wires 
of  the  cage,  threw  a  somersault,  and  alighted 
again  on  its  ring  with  an  interrogation  in  its 
eye.  To  the  housekeeper  its  supreme  impu- 
dence seemed  to  say,  as  its  master  might  have 
done,  "Can  ye  touch  at  that,  Janet?  " 

"  Pretty  Poll,"  said  Hetty,  looking  with  kindly 
eyes  through  the  bars.  The  bird  jerked  its 
67 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

head  on  one  side  to  think  of  this  fresh  voice. 
The  words  were  unfamiHar  —  it  was  not  accus- 
tomed to  flattery. 

"  Pretty  Polly,  you  might  speak,"  Eva  added 
coaxingly.  The  parrot  tossed  its  head  and 
turned  up  a  meditative  black  eye,  as  if  commit- 
ting another  tit-bit  of  musical  articulation  to 
memory. 

"  Fule  craitur,"  Janet  remarked  tartly.  "What 
ails  ye,  glowerin'  that  gate,  without  a  word? 
Ye  can  chatter  enoch  whiles  when  it's  no 
wanted." 

"Isaac  —  "cried  the  bird,  blinking  hard  — 
"Isaac — irr  ye  there  .?  ^ — Here's  Janet  —  nesty 
cuttie."     Eva  screamed  with  delight. 

"  I  declare  ye  wud  think  the  beast  was 
human  —  I  never  hear  its  voice  but  it  puts 
me  in  mind  o'  a  wumman  in  Houston  parish  — 
she  had  an  awesome  gift " 

"  O'  bad  language,"  interrupted  Isaac,  who 
had  come  quietly  on  the  scene,  and  completed 
the  remark  after  his  laconic  fashion. 

The  vulnerable  spot  in  the  gardener's  armour 
of  indifference  was  the  parrot.  They  once  had 
a  parrot  at  the  manse,  Hetty  told  them,  and  she 
68 


A    NARROW    ESCAPE 

narrated  amusing  stories  of  its  antics.  Her 
uncle  in  Glasgow  had  a  starling  that  had  an 
extraordinary  gift  of  speech,  and  could  sing 
"  Up  in  the  morning's  no  for  me  —  up  in  the 
morning  ear  —  ley."  Hetty  imitated  the  bird's 
tone  and  manner  to  Isaac's  delight.  She  also 
informed  him  that  West  African  parrots  had 
been  known  to  live  for  a  hundred  years. 

"  D'ye  hear  that,  mistress?  "  Isaac  eyed  the 
housekeeper  gleefully. 

"  Oh,  that'll  please  ye  fine,"  she  replied  with 
a  laugh  ;  "  but,  my  surce,  he'll  leeve  a  heap 
less  than  a  hunner  years  gin  he  be  na  taught  to 
keep  a  ceeviller  tongue  in  his  haed." 

Isaac's  regard  for  the  governess,  stirred  at 
first  by  her  interest  in  talking  birds,  ripened  by 
fuller  intercourse.  Her  knowledge  of  botany 
and  flower  culture  was  a  source  of  wonder  to 
him.  He  would  stand  by  silent  while  she  dis- 
coursed to  her  pupil  on  the  nature,  habits,  and 
structure  of  flowers.  He  believed  she  could 
name  them  all  in  Latin  as  well  as  iMiglish.  It 
may  be  supposed  that  the  gardener  had  got 
pretty  well  beyond  himself,  and  was  on  the  way 
to  a  higher  estimate  of  woman-kind  when  he 
69 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

confided  to  the  housekeeper  thatthat  Miss  Hetty 
"  was  a  by  ordn'ar  lass :  no  content  \vi'  birds  and 
garden-flowers,  she  had  e'en  set  to  in  his  hearing 
and  made  a  grand  thing  oot  o'  a  sheuch  o'  weeds." 
Hetty's  scheme  of  education  for  the  child 
embraced  nature  as  one  of  its  class  books. 
This  wholesome  branch  of  study  was  taken 
every  day  when  the  weather  was  propitious,  but 
Saturdays  were  their  gala  days.  Isaac  gradually 
became  interested  in  these  excursions.  He 
himself  suggested  a  visit  to  Crosby  Glen,  and 
on  a  bright  Saturday  morning  personally  es- 
corted them  thither.  "  Ise  warrant  ye'll  have 
plenty  to  talk  about  till  denner-time,"  he  said, 
as  he  left  them  at  Park-yett  gate.  A  small 
brown  road,  veined  and  knotted  with  roots,  led 
them  into  the  bosky  depths  of  this  umbrageous 
place.  It  was  a  scene  in  which  nature  ran  riot 
in  the  exuberance  of  her  occult  forces.  In 
mossy  hollows,  at  the  roots  of  spruce  and  larch, 
lingering  primroses  peeped  from  their  encircling 
leaves  like  eggs  in  their  soft  green  nests,  startled 
rabbits  darted  hither  and  thither,  and  lo,  as  if 
to  illustrate  the  lessons  of  the  week,  a  large 
brown  squirrel  paused  in  its  ascent  of  a  syca- 
70 


A   NARROW   ESCAPE 

more  to  scan  the  intruders,  and  give  them 
leisure  to  admire  its  grace  and  beauty.  The 
eye  and  ear  of  the  child  found  grateful  surprise 
at  every  turn.  The  flutings  of  birds ;  the  soft 
tenor  of  the  bee;  the  velvety  yellow-green  of 
the  moss;  lichened  boulders,  half  buried  in  the 
lush  undergrowth  of  bracken  and  grass.  Sharp 
lines  of  sunshine  sliced  the  sylvan  gloom,  gild- 
ing root  and  bole.  An  ancient  trunk,  with 
snake-like  roots  turned  skyward,  bore  a  slender 
aspen  whose  leaves  twittered  joyously  above 
the  ruin  on  which  it  flourished.  In  the  hollow 
the  stream  gurgled  dolefully  out  of  sight.  Eva 
was  fascinated  by  the  vast,  dome-like  magnifi- 
cence as  well  as  by  the  minute  beauty  of  the 
objects  around  her.  Inquiring  enthusiasm  gave 
little  pause  to  the  teacher.  This  infinite  wealth 
of  greenery  through  which  they  waded,  how 
marvellously  fashioned  in  detail?  The  hemlock 
with  its  pinkish-white  coronet  of  flower;  the 
graceful  corrugated  leaves  of  the  despised 
dock;  bending  spindles  of  grass  swaying  under 
a  weight  of  tasselated  silver-grey  flowers ;  the 
wild  hyacinth,  now  entirely  denuded  of  leaves, 
bearing  its  shiny  globes  of  seed  above  the 
encroaching  grass.         71 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

To  the  imaginative  Eva  this  was  a  memorable 
afternoon,  but  the  recollection  of  it  was  grimly 
impressed  on  the  minds  of  both  by  the  almost 
tragic  occurrence  that  brought  it  to  a  close. 
Returning  home  through  the  Crosby  meadows, 
they  were  alarmed  by  the  angry  bellowing  of 
a  young  bull  at  a  barred  space  in  an  adjoining 
field.  Hetty  seized  her  pupil's  hand,  and  had 
barely  run  a  dozen  steps  when  they  heard  the 
barrier  giving  way.  The  governess  directed 
their  flight  to  the  nearest  refuge  —  a  dry-stone 
dyke,  lifted  the  child  in  her  arms,  and  dropped 
her  safely  on  the  other  side.  She  had  not  time, 
however,  to  save  herself,  for  the  infuriated  ani- 
mal was  at  her  heels,  and  ere  she  knew  tossed 
her  out  of  further  harm's  way  over  the  wall. 
Fortunately  McLennan  the  carrier  was  on  the 
brow  of  the  hill  road  returning  to  Kilspindie, 
and  saw  the  race  as  well  as  the  subsequent  dis- 
aster. In  a  few  minutes  he  was  on  the  spot, 
for  he  stopped  Brownie  and  ran.  Hetty  was 
stunned,  but  soon  regained  consciousness.  Her 
foot  was  sprained  by  the  fall,  and  as  she  was 
unable  to  walk,  McLennan  took  her  up  in  his 

strong  kindly  arms,  carried  her  to  the  cart,  and 
72 


A    NARROW    ESCAPE 

conveyed  her  and  her  charge  safely  home.  In 
addition  to  the  sprain  she  was  sHghtly  gored  in 
the  arm,  but  made  hght  of  the  injury,  and 
begged  that  it  might  not  be  spoken  of  lest  an 
exaggerated  account  of  the  incident  should 
reach  and  alarm  her  parents.  This  injunction 
of  silence  was  too  much  for  the  honest  carrier. 
The  air  in  these  slumberous  by-ways  did  not 
often  vibrate  with  real  adventures.  Yet  here 
was  an  adventure  in  which  he  himself  had  borne 
a  chivalrous  part.  It  was  not  every  unmarried 
man  who  could  boast  truthfully  of  carrying 
a  full-grown  young  woman  in  his  arms  over  two 
and  a  half  acres  of  ground  without  resistance. 
The  thought  fired  his  imagination,  and  made 
him  think  of  the  days  of  knight-errantry.  He 
longed  to  tell  it  to  Alec  Brodie,  who  would 
probably  make  a  "  po'm  "  about  it.  In  fancy 
he  had  already  crowned  his  heroine  v/ith  the 
nimbus  of  a  heroic  deed. 

"  No  tell  !  "  he  said  to  his  sister;  "  gey  like  ! 
It  was  her  modesty.  But  what  I'll  tell  will  be 
to  nobody's  disadvantage.  If  Robin  Barbour 
sen's  owre  for  that  bag  o*  tenpenny  nails  yc'U 
fin'  me  at  the  candle-maker's  workshop." 


CHAPTER   VII 

WINDY-YETT  MAKES   A  MISTAKE 

It  was  Sunday  afternoon  before  the  news  of 
the  accident  reached  Mrs.  Cowie.  There  was 
little  else  talked  of  by  the  men  in  the  kirkyard 
before  sermon  time.  It  was  not  the  habit  of 
the  women-folk  to  palaver  in  this  outer  court. 
They  went  at  once  to  their  high-backed  pews 
to  compose  their  minds,  and  see  what  their 
neighbours  had  on.  Mrs.  Cowie' s  active  mind 
took  in  all  that  was  worthy  of  obsei-vation  at  a 
glance,  and  her  eye  travelled  out  of  the  loft 
window  to  where  the  cadger's  horse  was  crop- 
ping the  scant  grass.  She  was  marvelling  at 
the  absence  of  Janet  Izet,  and  her  "  so  set  up 
wi'  her  mournings,"  but  this  was  made  plain  to 
her  afterwards  at  ''  skarling  "  time,  on  their  way 
down  to  the  inn  where  they  had  "  lowsed." 
74 


WINDY-YETT  MAKES  A   MISTAKE 

"Just  you  taigle  awee  in  yokin',''  she  said, 
when  her  husband  had  finished  his  story.  "I'll 
run  up  to  Broomfields  and  sec  if  the  bairn  has 
been  hurt." 

"Tschah  woman,  ye  neednafash,  for  they  tell 
me  she  won  aff  withoot  scaith. " 

"  Will  ye  no  do  as  I  tell  ye  ? "  she  replied  hotly, 
"  some  men' 11  never  learn  sense.  Wud  it  no  look 
gey  heartless  efter  what  has  come  and  ganc  if 
I  didna  see  till  the  bairn  in  her  father's  absence  ? 
Whare's  Bell?" 

It  occurred  to  Mrs.  Cowie  at  the  moment  that 
her  daughter's  company  on  such  an  errand 
might  serve  a  good  purpose.  But  Bell  had  pre- 
ferred to  walk  home  with  some  young  friends, 
and  Richard  Cowie,  hurrying  on  to  overtake 
the  carrier,  felt  there  was  leisure  and  opportu- 
nity for  a  dram  while  his  wife  was  making  her 
ceremonious  and  diplomatic  call. 

"There's  that  woman  Cowie,"  exclaimed 
Mistress  Izet,  jumping  to  her  feet  and  all  but 
overturning  a  plate  of  hot  "kail."  She,  Isaac, 
and  Jenny  Guililand  had  sat  down  to  dinner 
in  the  kitchen  (Isaac  always  dined  there  on 
Sundays).  "Jenny,  rin  and  shut  the  door  of 
75 


DOCTOR  CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

the  drawing-room.  Show  her  into  the  parlour 
and  dinna  open  your  lips,  guid  or  ill,  till 
I  come;  we'll  gi'e  her  no  occasion  to 
clype." 

When  the  housekeeper  returned  she  reported 
what  had  taken  place  as  she  served  out  the 
sheep's  head. 

"Speirin'  body,"  grunted  Isaac,  helping  him- 
self to  potatoes. 

"  Guid  forgie  me  for  leein, "  said  Mistress  Izet, 
the  spur  of  remembrance  touching  the  side  of 
her  conscience.  "When  she  asked  to  see  Miss 
Hetty  hersel',  I  said  she  hadna  sleepit  a  wink 
a'  nicht  wi'  the  pain  in  her  fit,  and  that  the 
bairn  and  her  had  just  lain  doon  thegither  and 
were  fast  asleep.  That  was  an  avvfu'  lee  to  tell 
on  the  Sabbath  day,  Isaac,  when  they  were  baith 
sitting  at  their  denner  i'  the  next  room.  Jenny 
Guililand,"  cried  the  speaker,  suddenly  realizing 
her  indiscretion,  "if  you  tell  a  word  I'll  —  oh,  I 
dinnaken  what  I  wud  do  —  I'll — ^I'll  just — tak' 
the  haed  aff  ye !  " 

"Um,"  interjected  Isaac,  ignoring  the  intimi- 
dating parenthesis,  "what  said  she  syne?  " 

"  Oh,  she  then  commenced  to  black-ball  Miss 
76 


WINDY-YETT   MAKES   A   MISTAKE 

Hetty  for  her  want  o'  sense  in  taking  the  bairn 
into  places  o'  danger;  but  I  coupet  the  tables 
by  saying  it  wud  be  wicer  like  if  she  got  her 
ain  guid-brither  to  put  a  halter  on  sic  vicious 
bruits,  and  tie  them  i'  the  byre-en',  instead  o' 
letting  them  rampage  aboot  terrifyin'  the  lives 
oot  o'  simple  folk.  Nothing  wud  do  but  that 
the  wee  lassie  should  be  sent  up  to  the  farm  for 
a  few  days  to  settle  her  nei-ves. " 

"To  get  the  news,  and  breed  mischief,"  said 
Isaac,  taking  a  trotter  in  his  fingers  —  having 
exhausted  the  capabilities  of  knife  and  fork. 

"Just  to  breed  mischief,  Isaac,  ye  never  said 
a  truer  word.  I  was  mortal  angry,  but  con- 
tained mysel'.  I  thanked  her  dryly,  and  said 
that  though  the  governess  had  raxed  her  fit  she 
was  still  able  enough  to  gie  the  bairn  her 
lessons. " 

"  Um  !  —  I  see  through't,"  said  Isaac,  deliver- 
ing the  exclamation  through  his  nose. 

The  gardener  was  more  than  usually  com- 
municative, and  Janet,  an  earnest  student  of  his 
demeanour,  helped  him  to  a  favourite  piece  of 
the  cheek.  Her  respect  for  his  perspicacity  was 
unbounded. 

77 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

"  Jenny  Guililand,"  she  said,  "  if  you're  through 
wi'  your  denner  rin  doon  to  the  candle-maker's 
and  speir  for  the  guidwife's  rheumatics  —  see, 
gie  the  dug  these  banes  i'  the  by-gaun." 

It  was  clear  to  her  Isaac  had  some  idea  in 
his  mind  that  was  verified  or  vivified  by  Mrs. 
Cowie's  visit,  which  he  might  be  loath  to  reveal 
in  the  presence  of  a  third  party. 

"  That's  prime  !  "  he  exclaimed,  leaning  back  in 
his  chair,  and  wiping  his  mouth  with  open  hand 
after  the  girl  had  retired.  His  colloquist,  how- 
ever, was  in  dubiety  as  to  whether  the  adjective 
referred  to  the  sheep's  head  or  some  coincident 
thought  in  his  own  mind. 

"  Ye  have  a  wonnerfu'  head  for  putting 
this  and  that  thegither  though  ye  hain  yer 
speech." 

"  Umph'm  —  I  see  her  game." 

"  I'm  sure  ye  see  clean  through  her  for  a'  sic 
a  clever  woman  as  she  is."  The  housekeeper 
spoke  with  stimulating  emphasis. 

"  I  see  her  game,"  Isaac  reiterated,  not  yet 
ready  to  capitulate.  He  was  vain  of  his  reticence 
as  garrulous  people  are  of  speech. 

"  I  was  sure  o'  that,"  confirmed  Mistress  Izet, 
78 


WINDY-YETT   MAKES  A   MISTAKE 

'*  I  saw  it  in  your  face  while  I  was  telling  ye 
what  passed." 

"I  jaloused  a  while  sin,"  progressed  Isaac  — 
"  but  I  never  let  on." 

"  Think  o'  that.  Folk  that  are  aye  talking 
seldom  learn  muckle.  Ye  think  and  ken  heaps 
o'  things  that  wud  be  worth  listening  to,  I'm 
sure." 

"  Maybe."  The  dawn  of  a  grim  smile  increased 
while  he  fingered  his  lips.  "  Maybe  —  but  ye 
should  ken  this  ane  —  she  wants  to  put  her 
daughter  Bell  in  Miss  Hetty's  place." 

Isaac  did  not  give  his  authority  for  this  re- 
mark, indeed  it  is  doubtful  if  ever  he  heard  even 
a  hint  of  Mrs.  Cowie's  intentions.  Probably  it 
was  due  to  the  wonderful  head  he  had  for 
putting  this  and  that  together.  Mrs.  Cowie  it 
is  true  had  not  at  first  thought  of  her  daughter 
going  to  hve  at  Broomfields  in  the  capacity 
of  a  governess,  but  on  after  consideration  she 
inquired  of  herself  why  not?  Bell  had  got 
an  educational  finish  which  cost  "  a  bonny 
penny,"  and  it  was  lost  at  the  farm.  Girls  as 
well  ofT  as  she  went  out  to  genteel  places;  but 
the  prevailing  motive  in  her  mind  was  that  of 
79 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

uniting  the  fortunes  of  Broomfields  and  Windy- 
yett,  however  that  might  be  brought  about.  She 
cleared  the  point  to  her  own  satisfaction  that 
the  situation  was  not  one  of  servihty;  it  was  a 
move  in  a  game  of  skill.  Rumour  gave  forth 
that  Mr.  Congalton  was  returning  with  the  in- 
tention of  settling,  for  a  time  at  le.ist,  in 
Kilspindie.  If  her  daughter  got  the  place  of 
governess  she  would  have  opportunities  of 
impressing  him  with  her  worth.  She  would 
doubtless  sit  at  table  with  him,  and  Mrs.  Cowie 
could  not  believe  that  any  man  situated  as  he 
was,  and  living  the  lonely  life  he  led,  could 
resist  a  well-favoured  young  woman  like  Bell. 
Mrs.  Cowie  had  looked  at  the  subject  out  and 
in.  Eva  need  not  be  a  standing  incumbrance. 
The  question  was  one  of  generalship.  After 
marriage  the  child  could  be  sent  to  a  boarding 
school.  That  would  leave  Bell's  hands  free  for 
the  responsibilities  that  might  follow;  she  felt  it 
would  be  unfair  that  a  second  wife  in  the  early 
days  of  her  married  life  should  be  hampered  by 
the  presence  and  care  of  a  first  wife's  bairn.  Mrs. 
Cowie  was  too  earnest  to  see  the  humour  of  the 

situation.     She   had   turned  these  and   kindred 
80 


WINDY-YETT   MAKES   A   MISTAKE 

matters  over  in  her  own  mind,  but  would  keep 
them  to  herself  till  the  issues  were  ripe.  She 
felt  the  tenure  of  the  present  governess  need 
not  be  a  long  one,  indeed  so  far  as  her  own 
designs  went,  she  hoped  and  believed  that  it 
would  not  be  so.  She  passed  a  condescending 
"  Guid  day "  to  Nancy  Reedam  and  William 
Caughie,  who  stood  at  their  respective  doors  as 
she  sailed  down  to  the  inn. 

Meantime  Windy-yett  and  his  friend  the  car- 
rier had  "  yoked  "  to  their  second  gill.  The 
latter  was  carried  away,  and  had  magnified  the 
incident  of  the  previous  afternoon  into  an  act 
of  heroism  beyond  reasonable  proportions.  It 
was  an  adventure  in  which  he  had  borne  part : 
there  was  reflected  glory. 

"  It  was  smart  o'  the  bit  craitur  tae,"  admitted 
the  farmer,  thinking  of  the  mere  physical  aspect 
of  the  occurrence,  "  brocht  up  on   book-diet." 

"  Book-diet  I  "  repeated  McLennan,  "  man 
Windy-yett,  that's  just  it."  The  carrier  brought 
down  a  solid  fist  on  the  table,  making  the 
pewter  measure  gyrate.  "  It's  edication  that 
dis't." 

The  farmer  missed  the  relevancy  of  this  re- 
6  3i 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

mark,  and  asked  what  "  edication  "  had  "  to  do 
wi't."  He  was  normally  slow  in  the  up-take, 
but  had  the  reputation  at  market  of  being  able 
in  the  course  of  the  second  gill  to  see  as  far  as 
his   neighbours  into  a  "logic  argyment." 

"  Everything,"  cried  McLennan  extravagantly, 
"  at  ony  rate  mair  than  ye  think.  Tak  your 
common  five-eicht  woman,  or  man  either,  and 
spring  sudden  danger  on  them,  nine  oot  o'  ten 
o'  them'll  tak  to  their  heels  —  self-preservation  is 
the  first  law  wi'  them ;  but  here  is  a  lassie,  weel 
brocht  up,  weel  schuled,  wi'  her  wits  under 
control.  Her  training  has  gi'en  her  the  whip- 
hand  o'  hersel',  so  to  speak.  Man,  she  didna 
even  squeal,  and  that  showed  edication.  She 
had  been  taught  to  think  o'  ithers  before  hersel', 
and  crying  oot  couldna  work  a  miracle.  It  wud 
have  been  a  waste  o'  breath,  and  she  needed  a' 
her  puff  to  rin  to  the  dyke  and  drap  the  wee 
thing  safe  on  the  ither  side.  D'ye  see?  "  The 
carrier  was  getting  into  form.  "  It's  the  same 
thing  i'  the  British  army  —  the  rank  and  file 
will  stick  and  kill  stracht-foret  like  deevils,  but 
what  wud   come  o't    if    this    bruit-force   wasna 

under  the  guidance  o'  a  calm  mind?      It's  the 

82 


WINDY-YETT   MAKES  A   MISTAKE 

officers  that  win   the  battles.      Man,    edication 

will " 

But  what  more  this  wonderful  agency  was 
capable  of  achieving,  according  to  the  appraise- 
ment of  this  advocate  whom  it  had  neglected, 
remained  unexpressed,  for  Mrs.  Cowie  had 
thrown  the  door  back  forcibly  to  the  wall,  and 
stood  in  the  opening.  She  was  annoyed  at  the 
impatient  and  curt  treatment  received  at  the 
hands  of  Mistress  Izet,  but  the  annoyance  devel- 
oped into  wrath  on  finding  that  her  husband  had 
not  only  forgotten  her,  but  had  so  far  forgotten 
himself  as  to  consort  with  and  treat  a  common 
carrier  for  the  purpose  of  hearing  about  the 
"  silly  on-gauns  o'  a  glaikit  woman."  This  was 
what  she  said  afterwards,  but  at  the  moment  she 
stood  in  the  door,  an  alarming  embodiment  of 
impatience,  and  only  remarked,  "  Are  you 
ready?     I'm  waiting  for  ye." 

As  her  husband  in  unheroic  haste  "  clamped  " 
past  to  the  stable  the  carrier  asked  politely 
if  he  could  treat  her  to  a  "  gless  o'  sherry 
wine." 

"  No,  thenk  ye,"  she  said,  raising  her  chin. 
"  I'm  much  obleeged  to  ye,  but  I  dinna  approve 
S3 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

o*  women  or  men  either  drinking  in  a  common 
change-hoose  on  the  Sabbath  day."  She  turned 
on  her  heel  and  metaphorically  shook  the  dust 
of  connivance  from  her  feet. 

Cowie  held  the  horse's  head  meekly  until  she 
was  solidly  settled  in  the  gig,  then  he  mounted 
beside  her  and  drove  up  the  brae,  bracing  him- 
self for  what  might  ensue.  They  passed  Broom- 
fields  in  silence.  The  dram  and  the  carrier's 
words  were  still  buzzing  in  Richard  Cowie's 
head.  His  wife's  eyes  were  turned  away  from 
him  as  if  she  were  studying  nature  amongst  the 
weeds  and  wild  flowers  at  the  roots  of  the  hedge. 
He  felt  that  his  forgetfulness  had  given  her 
"  mortal "  offence.  In  ordinary  circumstances 
he  would  have  waited  humbly  and  let  her  have 
her  say,  but  his  share  of  two  gills  hadn't  been 
taken  for  nothing;  he  would  have  the  first 
word,  let  who  might  have  the  last.  He  sucked 
his  tongue  encouragingly  to  the  horse  and 
applied  the  whip. 

"  I  agree  wi'  McLennan  that  edication's  a 
gran'  thing,"  he  began,  as  if  his  wife  had  been 
a  listener  to  their  interrupted  discussion. 

"  D'ye  though,"  she  retorted,  shifting  her  eyes 
84 


WINDY-YETT   MAKES   A   MISTAKE 

from  the  hedge-roots.    "  It's  a  pity  but  ye  baith 
had   mair  o'  t." 

His  valour  was  rising. 

"  Tak  ony  ither  common  lassie,"  he  continued, 
"  ten  to  ane  wud  'a'  ta'en  to  their  heels  and  ran 
withoot  thinking  o'  the  bit  bairn;  but  that's 
whare  edication  comes  in.  It's  the  same  with 
the  British  army,  the  men  will  rin  ram-stam 
and  stick  this  ane  and  the  ither  ane,  but  it's  the 
offishers  that  wins  the  battles." 

His  wife  turned  to  him  at  first  with  concern, 
then  a  withering  look  contorted  her  face. 

"  The  whisky  has  gane  to  yer  head,"  she 
said. 

"  Na,  it's  sober  truth,  McLennan  and  me  had 
a  prime  crack  aboot  it.  He  saw  the  governess 
rinnin'  wi'  the  wee  lassie  in  her  arms  and  the 
bull  at  her  heels.  He  puts  it  a'  doon  to  edica- 
tion, and  I'm  inclined  to  favour  his  opinion. 
They  tell  me  the  woman  got  badly  hurt  hersel', 
did  ye  hear  ocht  c't?  " 

Richard  Cowie's  audacity  had  surprised  even 
himself.  He  did  not  know  his  wife's  designs, 
if  she  had  confided  in  him  probably  he  would 
not  have  gone  so  far. 

8S 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

"Ay,"  she  remarked  dryly,  "  so  you're  agreed 
that  edication's  a  gran'  thing,  baith  o'  ye,  and 
that  the  British  army  wins  battles  by  it;  weel, 
weel,  yer  an  uncommon  pair,  but  ony  subject  will 
serve  men  when  there's  whisky  i'  their  insides." 

"  Ye  needna  flyte,  it  didna  cost  that  muckle 
siller,"  he  said  humbly. 

"  Ay,  ay ;  it's  the  cock's  guidwill  wi'  the  hen's 
corn,  but  it  wud  have  been  a  heap  wicer-like 
gin  ye  had  been  talking  owre  the  heads  o'  the 
day's  discoorse,  than  exposing  the  silly  on-gauns 
o'  a  glaikit  woman  in  a  public  change-hoose." 

Windy-yett  began  to  consider  as  he  drove 
along  that  he  had  somehow  started  on  the  wrong 
"  headrigg."  He  certainly  had  the  first  word, 
and  it  might  be  as  well  he  thought  now  to  let 
his  wife  have  the  last,  because  it  came  to  his 
memory  that  there  was  another  subject  that  had 
to  be  broached  with  pacific  carefulness  before 
he  reached  home.  During  the  day,  while  crack- 
ing thoughtlessly  in  the  kirkyard,  he  had  taken 
the  liberty  of  inviting  Willie  Mitchell  of  Coultar- 
mains  to  dinner.  This  hospitable  impulse  had 
come  into  his  mind  on  learning  that  the  young 

farmer's  sister-housekeeper  had  gone  to  visit  a 
86 


VVINDY-YETT   MAKES  A   MISTAKE 

friend  at  Kingsford,  and  would  not  return  till 
the  Monday. 

"  I'm  fell  sorry  I  keepit  ye  waiting,"  he  said 
by  and  by,  in  a  preparatory  way.  "  Edication 
efter  a's  no  everything,  though  McLennan  was 
gey  dour  on't."  He  was  ncaring  the  road-end, 
and  he  did  not  want  Willie  Mitchell  to  feel  that 
he,  Richard  Cowie,  had  no  standing  in  his  own 
house.  "  I  forgot  to  tell  ye  I  had  speired 
Coultarinains  to  denner  the  day."  He  had 
reined  the  pony  to  walking  pace,  and  was  mop- 
ping his  head  with  a  red  pocket-handkerchief. 

"Ye  what?"  cried  his  wife,  almost  bouncing 
off  her  seat,  and  stamping  her  foot  with  a  force 
that  to  his  innocent  mind  seemed  out  of  all 
proportion  to  his  indiscretion.  But  the  look  of 
vexation  and  anger  on  her  face  was  even  more 
alarming  than  her  words  or  gestures. 

Willie  Mitchell  invited  to  dinner!  Were  her 
plans  and  cherished  hopes  to  be  frustrated  by 
the  stupid  intermeddling  of  a  thoughtless  man? 
This  was  the  secret  of  Bell's  absence;  the 
reason  of  her  desire  to  walk  instead  of  drive 
home.  Mrs.  Cowie  was  not  so  insensible  to  the 
language  of  look  and  manner  as  to  be  ignorant 
87 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S  LEGACY 

of  the  fact  that  the  "  Mains  "  lad  had  a  fancy 
for  Bell,  and  that  her  daughter,  like  a  wayward, 
unsought  girl,  was  none  loath  to  receive  his 
attentions.  The  farm  of  Coultarmains  had 
been  left  to  Mitchell  and  his  sister,  well- 
stocked,  and  free  of  debt;  but  for  Bell,  with 
her  ladylike  accomplishments,  to  go  into  a  farm 
kitchen  possessing  simply  a  third  partnership, 
with  probably  two  to  one  against  her,  would  be 
a  folly  which  must  be  hindered.  But  beyond 
and  above  this,  such  a  union  would  blight  all 
her  maternal  ambitions,  and  involve  the  sacrifice 
of  her  interest  in  the  doctor's  will.  These 
considerations  flashed  through  Mrs.  Cowie's 
mind  in  a  moment,  and  emphasized  the  terrible 
peremptoriness  of  word  and  manner. 

"  Weel,  ye  see,  I  had  no  chance  o'  speirin 
ye  i'  the  kirk,"  Cowie  said  deferentially,  "  for 
the  precentor  was  half  through  the  first  psalm 
before  I  won  up  to  the  laft,  and  efter  we  were 
oot  this  meeserable  governess  story  dang  the 
thing  clean  oot  o'   my  head." 

"  Sin'   ye    have    invited    Mains   yoursel',    ye 
maun  een  have  him  to  yersel' ;   as  for  me  and 
Bell,  we'll  denner  i'  the  kitchen." 
88 


WINDY-YETT   MAKES   A   MISTAKE 

"  Ye'll  no  do  ony  sic  an  onneebourly  thing, 
surely,"  he  said  pleadingly.  "  His  sister  has 
gane  to  Kingsford,  and  as  there  was  to  be  no 
set-doon  denner  for  him  at  hame,  I  thought  ye 
wudna  mind  me  asking  him  to  tak  a  bite  wi'  us 
o'  what  was  gaun." 

His  wife  did  not  reply.  They  had  turned  up 
the  loaning  leading  to  the  farm,  and  she  had 
need  of  the  short  space  of  time  remaining  to 
make  up  her  mind.  As  they  drove  into  the 
court  she  saw  Bell  with  a  pink  rose  in  her  hand 
sitting  at  one  side  of  the  parlour  window,  chatting 
gaily  with  a  brown-faced,  soft-eyed  young  far- 
mer, who  sat  at  the  other.  By  the  momentar>' 
glance  inward  she  saw  Bell  had  spread  the 
damask  table-cloth  and  put  down  the  "company  " 
knives  and  forks.  It  is  not  wronging  her  to  say 
that  Mrs.  Cowie  was  pleased  with  Bell's  fore- 
thought. She  felt  it  was  proper  to  impress 
this  young  man  with  their  genteel  manners, 
because  their  very  "  style  "  would  show  him  how 
hopeless  any  matrimonial  pretensions  on  his 
part  would  prove.  She  would  not  lower  herself 
in  the  esteem  of  a  neighbour  by  adhering  to  the 
inhospitable  threat  she  had  flung  at  her  husband, 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

but  she  would  take  care  that  he  had  no  chance 
of  palavering  privately  with  Bell.  The  em- 
barrassment of  the  moment  had  also  shown  her 
the  time  had  come  when  it  was  necessary  that 
both  her  husband  and  Bell  should  understand 
her  wishes,  so  that  no  family  cross-purpose  in 
future  should  interfere  with  the  realization  of 
her  plans. 


90 


CHAPTER   VIII 

THE   prodigal's    RETURN 

"  Eva,  Eva,  come  fast  and  help  me  to  catch 
this  beautiful  creature." 

There  was  a  rapid  rustle  of  skirts  in  and 
out  among  the  broom  and  boulders,  quickening 
breath,  and  at  last  rippling  palpitations  of 
laughter  as  the  pursuers  dropped  exhausted 
on  a  thymey  knoll  under  the  gracious  shadow 
of  a  clump  of  hazels. 

"  I  did  not  know  pansies  could  fly,"  Eva 
said,  with  round  eyes,  when  her  breath  had 
returned.  "  Oh,  Miss  Hetty,  you  had  it  in 
your  parasol." 

Hetty  laughed  at  the  dainty  conceit. 

"  It   was    not    a   pansy,    dear,    but    a   lovely 
butterfly;  see,  there  it  is  again,  hovering  above 
that  wild  rose  bush,  but  it  is  safe,  for  we  cannot 
follow  it  over  the  burn." 
91 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

The  governess  and  her  companion  were  on 
their  way  to  the  Baidland  Cairn.  Their  sensa- 
tions of  pleasure  in  the  warm  and  fragrant 
air  were  enhanced  by  contrast.  The  previous 
afternoon  was  chill  and  leaden,  slashed  with  grey 
lines  of  windy  rain.  From  the  school-room 
window  Eva  watched  the  distant  trees  tossing 
wispy  tops  of  sombre  green,  while  occasionally 
she  turned  a  pink  imaginative  ear  to  the  garden 
to  catch  the  answer  the  flowers  were  whisper- 
ing back  to  the  rain.  But  this  dreary,  disap- 
pointing afternoon  was  succeeded  by  a  perfect 
day,  led  in  by  the  lark,  and  perfumed  by  the 
sweet  odours  of  wood  and  corn-land.  To  Eva 
it  brought  the  additional  pleasure  of  a  letter 
from  her  father,  informing  her  that  his  book 
was  out,  and  that  he  was  leaving  London  the 
day  after  he  wrote,  and  hoped  to  be  back  at 
Broomfields  by  the  end  of  the  week.  Surely 
an  early  release  from  lessons  and  a  long  in- 
vigorating romp  on  the  wholesome  hillsides  was 
not  an  unearned  relaxation  on  such  a  day. 
They  left  the  shade  of  the  hazels,  and  were 
ascending  the  fern-fringed  path,  when  the  towsy 

head   of  a   boy  suddenly  appeared   above  the 
92 


THE   PRODIGAL'S   RETURN 

dry  stone  dyke  on  their  right.  He  held  a 
young  turnip  by  the  green  tops  in  one  hand, 
and  a  piece  of  white  unenveloped  paper  in 
the  other.  The  turnip  was  soft  and  succulent, 
and  bore  marks  of  strong  appreciative  teeth  — 
it  was  not  to  be  parted  with,  but  he  held  out 
the  paper  to  Hetty. 

"  I'm  hurdin,"  he  explained,  "  and  canna 
come  owre.  If  the  kye  miss  me  they'll  be  in 
the  neeps." 

Hetty  went  over  to  the  dyke. 

"  What  is  it?"  she  inquired,  taking  the  prof- 
fered paper  from  the  boy's  hand, 

"  I  canna  read  it,"  he  replied  honestly.  "  It's 
frae  a  gangrel.     I  was  to  wait  for  an  answer." 

Eva  looked  at  the  ragged  apparition  with 
puzzled,  wondering  gaze ;  but  the  apparition 
went  on  munching  his  turnip  with  light-hearted 
unconcern.  Then  the  gleam  of  a  generous 
thought  came  over  his  face  and  his  grey  eyes 
softened. 

"  Tak'  a  bite,"  he  said,  holding  the  juicy  end 
of  the  turnip  out  to  Eva ;  "  it's  an  awfu'  sweet 
ane." 

What  did  this  strange  missive  say,  the  read- 
93 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

ing  of  which  touched  the  full  gamut  of  Hetty's 
sensations  as  she  stood  there,  pale  and  red, 
cold  and  hot  by  turns,  totally  oblivious  to  what 
was  passing  around  her?  This  is  what  it 
said  — 

"  Dear  Hetty,  I  have  just  got  your  address; 
but  although  I  am  so  near  you  my  rig-out  is 
not  respectable  enough  for  me  to  call  at  your 
place,  or  appear  before  you  in  the  light  of  day. 
If  you  watch  the  boy  returning  you  will  see  I 
am  waiting  your  reply  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
the  cross-roads.  Could  you  meet  me  there  at 
dusk?  No  one  knows  I  have  come  back;  much 
depends  on  seeing  you  alone.  Just  say  yes 
or  no  to  the  boy.  If  you  cannot  come  to-night 
I  will  wait  at  Drumoyne  inn  till  I  hear  from 
you." 

"  You  poor  hungry  little  boy,"  Eva  was  say- 
ing; "  have  you  nothing  good  to  eat  at  home  ?  " 

Hetty  folded  the  paper  and  laughingly  ex- 
plained to  her  pupil  what  a  delicious  thing  to 
a  boy  a  fresh  young  turnip  is.  Then  she  put 
a  small  silver  coin  in  the  messenger's  hand. 

"For  him?"  he  inquired,  pointing  with  the 
remainder  of  the  turnip  over  his  shoulder. 
94 


THE   PRODIGAL'S   RETURN 

"  No,  for  yourself." 

The  boy's  eyes  beamed  incredulously. 

"  And  what  for  the  gangrel  ?  " 

"  Just  say  —  Yes." 

The  boy  flung  away  the  end  of  the  turnip 
and  took  to  his  heels.  For  a  brief  space  there 
was  the  rapid  twinkling  of  two  short  legs,  bare 
to  the  knees,  over  the  swelling  bosom  of  the 
clover  field,  then  gradually  feet,  legs,  body  and 
head,  the  latter  still  wagging,  seemed  to  sink 
into  the  ground  as  the  eyes  of  the  watchers 
passed  on  to  the  golden  shimmer  of  the  wheat- 
land  in  the  hollow  beyond.  Eva  was  too  much 
engrossed  with  this  child  of  the  soil  to  observe 
her  companion's  discomposure. 

The  letter  was  from  her  cousin,  Willie  Hazlet, 
who  had  been  a  source  of  trouble  to  his  rela- 
tions. It  was  the  old  story,  and  not  without 
parallel  in  the  experience  of  many  families. 
A  well-intentioned  attempt  had  been  made  to 
elevate  the  boy  beyond  his  natural  station,  to 
lift  him  by  education  and  association  into  a 
position  which  he  had  not  the  moral  capacity 
to  appreciate  or  retain.  His  father,  in  placing 
him  in  a  high-class  school,  endeavoured  frankly 
95 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

to  impress  upon  him  that  he  was  paying  be- 
yond his  means,  and  warned  him  against 
indulging  in  the  belief  that  he  could  afterwards 
be  maintained  on  the  same  social  plane.  These 
admonitions  entered  the  boy's  ear,  but  they 
did  not  influence  his  reason.  He  became  dis- 
satisfied. To  his  mind  there  seemed  to  be 
something  wrong  in  the  economy  of  things. 
Why  should  his  father  not  have  plenty  of 
money  like  the  fathers  of  other  boys?  Some- 
how he  got  it  into  his  head  that  it  was  parsi- 
moniousness,  and  not  actual  want  of  substance, 
that  was  at  the  bottom  of  his  own  lack  of 
liberal  pocket-money,  and  the  lectures  on  thrift 
to  which  he  was  subjected  both  in  correspond- 
ence and  during  his  vacation  holidays.  At  the 
age  of  eighteen  he  was  removed  from  school ; 
the  restraints  of  home-life  were  irksome.  He 
wanted  freedom  and  money  to  spend.  Many 
of  the  fellows  got  leave  to  travel  abroad  with 
a  tutor  or  companion.  He  wished  to  see  life 
as  other  fellows  saw  it,  not  in  the  restricted 
circle  of  a  provincial  town,  but  in  a  grander 
sphere,  where  there  was  breadth  and  freedom. 

The  expensive  education  had  proved  a  double 
96 


THE   PRODIGAL'S   RETURN 

failure ;  it  had  left  him  dissatisfied,  as  well  as 
insufficiently  qualified  to  enter  even  on  the 
preliminary  stages  of  a  professional  career.  A 
junior  clerkship  in  a  bank  occupied  him  for  a 
time,  but  this,  after  numerous  and  vexatious 
episodes,  he  left,  and  clandestinely  betook  him- 
self to  sea.  Hetty  was  pleased  to  hear  from 
the  wayward,  self-willed  prodigal,  about  whose 
fate  they  had  feared  the  worst.  She  remem- 
bered him  as  a  bright-faced,  kind-hearted,  and 
impulsive  boy,  when  he  used  to  spend  his 
school  holidays  at  the  manse.  The  present 
might  be  the  turning-point  in  his  life.  He  had 
appealed  to  her,  and  she  felt  it  to  be  her  duty 
to  respond  to  the  appeal. 

Hetty  and  her  pupil  continued  their  stroll  to 
the  top  of  the  Baidlands,  where  they  rested  in 
the  breezy  sunshine,  overlooking  the  undulating 
strath,  through  which  the  silver  cord  of  the 
Garnet  meandered,  leading  the  eye  onward  past 
tawny  cornfields  to  a  sombre  belt  of  pines, 
behind  which  the  hazy  smoke  of  Drumoyne, 
sheltered  by  the  hill,  curled  and  climbed.  The 
one  was  thinking  of  the  chequered  wanderings 
of  a  waj'ward  sailor  lad,  while  the  other  specu- 
7  97 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

lated  audibly  as  to  the  presents  her  father  would 
bring  from  London,  and  whether  he  would 
remain  at  home  and  never  go  away  any  more. 

The  upper  disc  of  the  sun  was  level  with  the 
tree-tops  in  Crosby  Glen,  and  the  reflected  glow 
illumined  the  Manse  windows  as  Hetty  set  out 
to  keep  her  tryst.  On  nearing  the  spot  where 
the  main  thoroughfare  intersects  the  parish  road 
she  paused  to  still  her  pulse  —  eagerness  had 
unconsciously  given  nimbleness  to  her  step. 
There  was  a  man  on  the  slope  of  the  parish 
road ;  a  woman  was  approaching  him  from  the 
opposite  direction ;  for  a  moment  they  paused 
and  spoke.  The  quick,  searching  eye  of  the 
sailor  caught  sight  of  his  cousin  as  she  emerged 
from  the  shadow  of  the  hedge.  As  they  saluted 
each  other  the  figure  on  the  hill  paused,  her 
back  against  the  after-glow,  and  witnessed  their 
meeting.  The  young  man  was  the  first  to 
speak. 

"  I  must  begin  our  interview  with  an  apology," 
he  said.  "  It  was  too  bad  my  asking  you  to 
meet  me  in  this  way,  but  I  wanted  your  advice, 
Hetty,  and  could  not  appear  in  this  garb  at 
any  respectable  door."  His  weather-worn,  tar- 
98 


THE    PRODIGAL'S   RETURN 

stained  clothes  were   not  at  variance    with  his 
words. 

"  Do  not  trouble  about  that,"  she  replied. 
"  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  home.  How  did  you 
know  where  to  find  me?  I  was  pleased  to  get 
your  message." 

"  I  ran  away  from  the  ship  at  Greenock,  and 
of  course  forfeited  my  wages.  I  am  sick  of 
this  life,  but  dare  not  go  back  to  my  father. 
I  came  to  Drumoyne  thinking  to  go  on  to 
the  manse  at  Kilbaan,  but  learned  from  the 
innkeeper  what  changes  had  taken  place  there. 
Hetty,  I  have  been  a  fool.  I  feel  I  am  unworthy 
to  look  in  any  of  your  faces  again." 

"  You  need  not  speak  like  that,  Willie ; 
indeed  you  must  not."  The  girl  was  moved 
by  the  bitter  tone  of  self-reproach.  "Your 
father  is  still  your  father,  though  you  have  not 
behaved  well  to  him." 

"  Oh,  I  dare  not  expect  anything  from  that 
quarter,"  he  said  rather  cynically.  "  He  wrote 
me  after  I  left  that  as  I  had  disregarded  all  his 
counsels,  and  so  on ;  you  know  the  kind  of 
thing.     My  father  has  always  been  very  severe." 

"  Do  not  be  unreasonable,  Willie ;  you  admit 
99 


DOCTOR  CONGALTON'S  LEGACY 

that  your  conduct  has  been  fooHsh,  and  your 
father's  severity,  as  you  call  it,  was  all  meant 
in  kindness  to  correct  your  faults.  But  how 
can  I  help  you  ?  After  all  that  has  taken  place, 
I  think  it  is  your  duty  to  write  home  and  ask 
forgiveness." 

"  And  be  told  that  having  made  a  thorny  bed 
I  must  lie  on  it." 

"  No,  Willie,  I  am  sure  you  do  your  father 
injustice.  If  you  are  really  sorry  for  your  past, 
and  say  so  to  him  frankly,  I  believe  he  would 
give  you  a  fresh  start.  But  was  not  this  your 
own  desire  when  you  wrote  me?  What  do  you 
propose  yourself  .-^ " 

"  I  can  hardly  tell,"  he  replied  honestly,  be- 
traying the  frailty  of  an  irresolute  mind.  "  I 
half  thought  of  the  army.  Do  you  think  I 
could  get  on  as  a  soldier  ? " 

His  cousin  looked  in  his  downcast,  helpless 
face.  There  was  no  strength  of  purpose  in  it. 
The  army,  she  was  sure,  was  a  new  fad,  which 
would  soon  become  as  distasteful  to  him  as  the 
sea.     It  was  another  folly. 

"  No,"  she  replied  resolutely;  "  I  do  not  think 
you  would  get  on   as   a  soldier.     You   do  not 

ICO 


THE    PRODIGAL'S  RETURN 

know  what  such  a  hfe  means.  Besides,  it  would 
be  too  late  to  change  your  mind  when  you 
discovered  you  did  not  like  it.  You  tire  of 
the  sea,  and  the  only  penalty  you  pay  for 
leaving  it  is  the  forfeiture  of  your  wages;  but 
you  could  not  thus  get  away  from  the  army. 
You  doubt  your  father's  forgiveness  —  I  do  not. 
Try  which  of  us  is  right.  If  your  belief  should 
prove  true,  then  the  army  is  open  to  you. 
Willie,"  she  said,  taking  the  lad  by  the  hand, 
her  kindly  eyes  looking  straight  into  his,  "  I 
think  too  much  of  you  to  let  you  go  further 
wroner.  You  have  invited  me  here  to  advise 
you  —  will  you  take  my  advice?" 

He  turned  his  face  away  from  her  gaze. 
There  were  tears  in  his  voice  as  he  spoke. 

"  Hetty,"  he  said,  "I  believe  you  are  right; 
but— but  I  cannot  — just  yet.     I  feel ■" 

"  I  know  what  you  are  thinking,"  she  inter- 
rupted ;  "  you  cannot  go  back  as  you  arc.  That 
can  be  put  right.  See,  here  is  my  purse."  She 
had  thought  of  this  before  leaving  home,  and 
put  all  her  savings  in  it.  "  You  will  pay  me 
back  when  you  can.  Put  away  your  sea-clothes 
and  get  others.     Go  straight  to  Kilbaan ;   I  will 

lOI 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

write  to  my  sister  —  she  will  expect  you.  I  am 
sure  also  my  father  will  write  and  make  recon- 
ciliation easy.  Trust  on  your  father's  part  may 
be  slow  of  coming  —  it  can  only  be  entirely  estab- 
lished, after  what  has  taken  place,  by  honourable 
and  persevering  work.  Are  you  prepared  for 
that?" 

"  I  will  do  my  very  best,  Hetty,"  he  said,  with 
decision,  the  dawn  of  an  honest  purpose  appear- 
ing on  his  face.  "  Then  the  result  I  anticipate 
is  sure  to  follow."  There  was  new  resolution  in 
his  hand-shake  at  parting  as  he  kissed  her  brow. 

Hetty  stood  till  his  figure  was  silhouetted 
from  the  apex  of  the  hill  against  the  lingering 
rose  of  sunset.  Poor  boy !  what  a  long  race 
he  had  taken  from  his  father's  house  to  learn 
the  comforts  of  home. 

As  she  turned  homeward  there  was  a  crack- 
ling amongst  the  brushwood  behind  the  beech 
hedge.  It  was  probably  a  sheep,  or  a  delinquent 
collie  among  the  rabbits.  Joy  shut  the  door 
against  fear;  her  cousin  Willie  was  dead,  but 
was  now  alive  again.  She  would  hurry  home 
and  write  the  heartening  news  to  Violet. 


I02 


CHAPTER   IX 

A   ROUP   AT   SMIDDY-YARD 

There  was  a  displenishing  sale  at  Smiddy- 
yard  —  a  roup  it  was  called  —  and  all  the 
country-side  turned  out  to  buy,  or  see  how 
prices  ranged.  Smiddy-yard  was  a  large,  well- 
stocked  hill  farm,  owned  by  the  late  Stephen 
Barbour,  better  known  as  the  Rev.  Steenie 
Barbour,  owing  to  his  habitual  use  of  scriptural 
forms  of  speech.  In  early  life  he  was  three 
parts  on  for  the  ministry,  but  "  reisted  "  at  fore- 
ordination  and  free  will.  He  turned  his  college- 
lear  to  farming  in  succession  to  his  father,  and 
prospered.  Two  sons,  inheriting  their  father's 
tastes,  were  at  college,  and  the  widow,  being 
well  left,  resolved  to  displenish  the  farm  and 
remove  with  her  boys  to  the  city. 

The  farm  steading  was  large,  and  included  a 
superior  dwelling-house,  barn,  byre,  stable,  hay- 
loft, and  potato-sheds,  with  an  expansive  court- 
yard between.  Round  about  the  walls  of  the 
103 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

outhouses  all  manner  of  implements  —  ploughs, 
harrows,  carts,  churns,  a  dog-cart,  cheese-presses, 
a  winnowing  machine,  flails,  and  such  like  —  were 
arranged  in  the  order  of  convenience,  and 
numbered  for  the  purpose  of  sale.  In  the 
milk  house  a  table  was  plenished  with  various 
eatables  —  home-made  scones,  oatcakes,  loaves 
of  white-bread,  and  milk.  There  was  also  a 
couple  of  small  casks  of  ale  laid  on  trestles. 
This  provision  on  the  face  of  it  betokened  hos- 
pitable welcome  to  neighbours,  but  if  frankness 
be  allowed,  it  was  also  designed  to  promote 
business  and  hinder  adjournment  elsewhere ; 
while  inside,  in  the  best  parlour,  liquids  and 
solids  of  a  more  genteel  order  were  provided 
for  family  friends  possessing  palates  of  subtler 
culture.  There  was  little  work  done  that  day 
for  five  miles  around,  for  even  farm  servants 
who  had  not  permission  to  leave  home,  feeling 
the  yoke  easy  in  their  master's  absence,  kept 
on  dreaming  about  the  humours  of  the  occa- 
sion, the  wholesome  fare  of  which  they  were  not 
allowed  to  be  partakers,  and  idled  their  hours 
away  over  reminiscences  of  roups  at  which  they 

themselves  had  been  present. 
104 


A    ROUP   AT   SMIDDY-YARD 

The  inquisitive  rooks  in  the  Garnet  woods 
came  out  again  and  circled  above  Kilspindie 
wondering,  for  no  anvil  rang,  and  not  a  shuttle 
was  thrown.  The  tinsmith  deserted  his  solder- 
ing iron,  the  candle-maker  suspended  his  frame, 
and  let  the  tallow  cool.  Even  McLennan  left 
the  road  for  a  day,  and  entrusted  Brownie  and 
the  cart  to  his  brother-in-law,  the  dry-stone 
dyker,  and  mingled  in  the  human  tide  that 
impinged  on  Smiddy-yard.  By  ten  o'clock 
the  field  behind  the  farm  was  littered  with  all 
kinds  of  conveyances.  Horses,  freed  from 
their  trappings,  and  others  wearing  odd  articles 
of  harness,  browsed  contentedly  among  the  cool 
succulent  grass.  Windy-yett  and  his  wife  were 
amongst  the  earliest  arrivals.  His  desires  were 
bounded  by  the  thought  of  a  cheap,  serviceable 
horse;  hers  had  a  wider  horizon  and  a  weightier 
purpose,  which  for  the  present  it  was  her  own 
business  to  conceal.  It  was  a  motley  gath- 
ering that  found  its  way  to  the  hillside  farm  on 
that  fresh,  early  autumn  morning.  Responsible 
landowners,  bonnet-lairds,  farmers,  otherwise  a 
nondescript  crowd,  leavened  and  toned  by  the 
controlling  presence  of  Mr.  Maconkey  the 
105 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

parish  minister.  The  less  valuable  articles  were 
disposed  of  first  to  give  voice  to  the  bidders, 
and  allow  time  for  important  arrivals.  The 
auctioneer  was  a  man  of  encouraging  humour. 
Natural  tact  and  long  experience  had  taught 
him  how  to  handle  the  materials  of  a  roup, 
and  stir  the  cupidity  of  buyers.  The  sacrifice 
of  a  few  comparatively  worthless  things  to  begin 
with  would  excite  expectation,  and  prepare  the 
unwary  mind  for  bargains.  A  couple  of 
"  stoups  "  and  a  watering-can  were  recklessly 
thrown  away  to  Babby  Lawson.  Tinny  Walker 
became  the  possessor  of  an  anvil.  The  carrier 
enhanced  his  own  professional  usefulness  by  the 
acquisition  of  a  hand-barrow,  and  Ritchie 
Meiklem,  plough-man  at  the  mains,  had  a 
cradle  knocked  down  to  him  amidst  the  plau- 
dits of  the  company.  This  was  acknowledged 
to  be  a  providence  of  forethought,  inasmuch  as 
Ritchie  had  only  been  "cried"  (proclaimed  in 
church)  for  the  second  time  on  the  previous 
Sunday.  But  the  ploughman  heroically  faced 
the  merriment  by  saying,  "  a  roup  didna  hap- 
pen every  day." 

When  they  had  time  to  encompass  its  import 
io6 


A   ROUP   AT   SMIDDY-VARD 

the  women-folk  were  sore  scandalized.  Mrs. 
Caughie  rubbed  her  knotted  knuckles,  and 
whispered  severely  to  Nancy  Beedam  that  it 
was  "an  unco  ondecent  like  thing,"  while 
Pringle  the  smith  slapped  the  now  blushing 
purchaser  on  the  back  — 

"There  is  nothing  like  lookin'  foret,  lad,"  he 
said ;  "  gin  ye  dinna  need  it  yersel',  ye'll  fin' 
folk'U  gie  your  ain  siller  for  't." 

The  cartwright's  humour  became  illustrative. 

"  What  the  smith  says  is  richt,  Ritchie,"  he 
said,  taking  the  ploughman  aside;  "aye  have 
odds  and  ends  handy.  Ye'll  maybe  mind 
John  Halliday,  him  that  got  the  place  in  the 
Glasgow  bank;  weel,  things  fell  oot  wi'  the 
mistress  rather  afore-han',  and  I'm  told  he  was 
seen  wan  night  efter  the  darkning  driving  aboot 
in  a  cab  seekin'  for  safety  preens." 

About  mid-day  most  of  the  miscellaneous 
articles  outside  were  disposed  of,  and  half-an- 
hour's  adjournment  was  allowed  for  refresh- 
ments. Windy-yett  had  lost  his  wife  in  the 
crowd,  or  rather  she  had  deserted  him  for  her 
own  ends,  and  feeling  for  the  moment  a  free 
hand,  he  retired  with  the  smith  to  the  dairy  to 
107 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S    LEGACY 

have  a  "  bite  o'  something  to  eat,  and  a  wacht 
o'yill."  General  Alexander  had  just  arrived 
from  Blacklaw,  and  it  was  known  he  had  a  mind 
to  purchase  a  couple  of  young  horses  for  car- 
riage-work :  the  "  horse  beasts "  were  to  be 
taken  first  on  the  resumption  of  business.  The 
promiscuous  discourse  in  the  dairy  was  out- 
spoken and  hilarious,  neighbour  chaffing  or  con- 
gratulating neighbour  over  their  purchases. 
Brinkburn  had  got  "  a  michty  bargain  "  of  the 
winnowing  machine.  A  plough  and  a  couple 
of  harrows  had  gone  to  Meilkeflat  for  the  price 
"  o'  auld  airn ;  "  while  there  had  been  a  "  keen 
toozzle  "  between  Coultarmains  and  Auchentorlie 
over  a  dog-cart,  that  had  fallen  to  the  latter  at 
a  price  which  the  cartwright  —  being  a  practical 
man  —  declared  for  extravagance  was  "  clean  oot 
o't."  Cowie  had  a  mind  only  for  one  thing 
at  a  time,  and  preferred  the  prospective  to 
the  backward  look.  He  was  concerned  about 
how  prices  might  go  when  the  sale  resumed. 
As  was  the  custom,  he  knew  the  less  costly 
beasts  would  go  first.  In  this  class  might  be 
reckoned  the  working-horse   which    under   the 

dominant   influence    of  a   superior   will  he  had 
io8 


A   ROUP   AT   SMIDDY-YARD 

been  inspired  to  purchase.  "  Dinna  miss  it  for 
the  sake  o'  a  bid,"  was  the  latest  utterance  of 
the  superior  will,  giving  latitude.  "  Bess  is  owre 
licht  for  field  work:  noo  that  Bell  is  an  heiress 
she  maun  gang  aboot,  and  Bess  will  be  braw 
and  serviceable  i'  the  gig."  Cowie,  feeling  the 
"  yill,"  and  fearing  indiscretion,  went  in  search 
of  his  wife. 

Meantime  the  object  of  quest  was  seated  in  the 
best  parlour,  in  absorbing  confabulation  with  Mrs. 
Lonen,  the  school-master's  wife,  when  the  con- 
versation was  interrupted  by  General  Alexander, 
who,  out  of  gallant  consideration  for  the  ladies' 
needs,  asked  them  what  refreshment  they  would 
have.  Mrs.  Cowie,  who  "  was  carrying  forward 
the  crack,"  impressively  looked  up  a  little 
flustered.  Then  she  smiled  graciously  —  "  it  was 
sic  an  honour  to  be  waited  on  by  a  high-born 
gentleman." 

"  I  had  a  real  herty  breakfast  thenk  you," 
she  said,  wishing  it  to  be  understood  that  the 
notion  of  eating  and  drinking  at  the  cost  of 
Smiddy-yard  could  not  be  entertained  without 
pressure.  The  General  replied  affably  that  he 
could  recommend  the  sherry,  and  as  for  the 
109 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

sandwiches,  they  were  excellent  —  it  was  long 
since  breakfast  time.  With  just  sufficient  hesi- 
tation to  justify  apparent  indifference,  and  make 
compliance  lady-like,  she  said  — 

"  Weel,  General,  since  you  are  so  very  kind, 
I'll  tak'  a  gless  o'  sherry  wine  and  a  sang- 
widge." 

From  her  advanced  "  pronouncemanship,"  as 
she  called  it,  of  uncommon  words,  she  would 
show  the  General  they  were  not  foreign  to  her. 
The  school-master's  wife,  though  eager  for 
news',  was  conscious  of  human  needs  which  she 
was  none  loath  to  gratify.  After  the  episode 
of  refreshment,  the  women  settled  down  again 
with  their  heads  together  to  the  unfinished  crack. 

"  Really,  Mrs.  Cowie,  ye  surprise  me.  A 
common  sailor,  did  ye  say?" 

"  Ay,  'deed,  a  common  sailor,  and  a  strong, 
ill-set  looking  tyke  too.  I  was  just  coming 
back  i'  the  gloaming  from  my  sister's  at  Crosby, 
when  I  saw  him  sauntering  aboot  the  road  en' 
downright  suspicious  like.  I  thocht  my  gentle- 
man had  tint  his  gate,  or  maybe  he  was  efter 
some  uncanny  ploy,  so  I  made  bold  to  speak, 
but  he  was  barely  ceevil,  and  lurched  past  me. 
no 


A    ROUP   AT   SMIDDY-YARD 

It  was  on  looking  over  my  shoulder  that  I  got 
a  glint  o'  her  coming  up  the  loaning." 
"  There  would  be  a  tryst  —  like  enough." 
"  Oh,  they  didna  meet  there  by  chance,  ye 
may  rely  on  that,  Mrs.  Loncn,  and  from  what 
I  saw  and  heard  efter-hin',  I  feel  there  was 
mair  than  friendliness  atween  them." 

"Eh,  the  cunning  piece — weel,  woman?" 
"Mrs.  Lonen,  what  do  ye  think  I  did?  I'm 
no  one  bit  ashamed  to  tell  ye,  though  ye  ken 
I'm  the  last  woman  that  would  pry  into  ither 
folk's  ongauns;  but  when  I  thought  o'  the  late 
Dr.  Congalton's  niece,  a  puir,  innocent,  un- 
suspectin'  bairn  left  to  the  care  o'  a  woman 
that  could  steal  oot  i'  the  darkenin'  to  meet 
a  man  that,  for  a'  I  kent,  might  be  a  common 
keelie  (thief)  or  a  cut-throat,  I  stepped  across 
the  field  into  the  wood,  and  was  behind  the 
beech  hedge  or  ever  they  won  to  the  ither 
side  o't.  They  spoke  low,  and  I  didna  just 
catch  a'  that  passed,  but  she  spoke  maist, 
and  seemed  to  be  pleading  wi'  him.  Mrs. 
Lonen,  ye  have  seen  a  heap  o'  the  world,  and 
I  need  not  mint  my  suspicions  to  you,  but  ye 
ken  brawly  there's  aye  something  wrang  when 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

a  woman  steals  oot  secretly  under  cover  o'  night 
to  plead  wi'  a  man !  " 

There  was  a  pause,  to  let  the  remark  gather 
importance. 

'•  I  couldna  see  their  faces,  but  I  think  or  a' 
was  dune  she  was  in  tears :  —  then  he  kissed 
her.  I  heard  it !  Yes,  Mrs.  Lonen,  the  shame- 
less hussy  actually  stood  up  and  let  the  man 
kiss  her  i'  the  open  road.  That's  the  wye  o' 
yer  fine  governess  gentry.  The  parish  schule 
wasna  guid  enough  for  the  bit  bairn,  but 
my  certie,  Mr.  Congalton  made  a  sair  mistake 
when  he  put  his  daughter  under  a  woman  like 
yon." 

"  But  Janet  Izet  should  ken,  or  Isaac  Kilgour, 
they  wud  speak  to  the  maister." 

"It's  no  use  —  they're  baith  clean  glamourt, 
and  '11  no  hear  a  word  against  her.  Noo  that 
Mr.  Congalton's  back  somebody  maun  tell,  of 
course,  but  it's  a  story  no  modest  woman  can 
mint  to  a  strange  man." 

"  We  could  speak  to  the  minister,"  whispered 
Mrs.  Lonen,  nudging  her  friend.  The  individual 
spoken  of  was  sipping  whisky  and  water  hu- 
manly enough   at  the  other  side   of  the  table. 

112 


A    ROUP   AT   SMIDDY-YARD 

Mrs.  Cowie  shook  her  head  —  this  was  not  in 
the  drift  of  her  intention,  but  she  endeavoured 
to  justify  her  negation. 

"  The  minister  and  her  father  are  said  to  be 
auld  frien's  —  class-mates  i'  the  college,  or  some- 
thing o'  the  kind  ;  but  mair  than  that,  from 
what  I've  heard  tell,  Mr.  Congalton  has  but 
little  faith  in  ministers.  No,  Mrs.  Lonen,  the 
thing  wud  come  wi'  far  greater  force  from  your 
ain  guidman.  They  tell  me  the  twa  were  real 
chief  before  Mr.  Congalton  gaed  to  London; 
and  no  to  be  wondered  at  either,  baith  being 
book-learned  and  leeterary." 

The  school-master's  wife  proudly  admitted 
that  Mr.  Congalton  had  occasionally  smoked 
a  pipe  before  leaving  for  London  at  the  school- 
house  —  indeed  one  of  the  first  things  he  had 
done  on  his  return  the  previous  day,  was  to 
call  and  present  a  copy  of  his  new  book  to  her 
husband. 

"  Ye  see  that,"  and  Mrs.  Cowie's  face  beamed  ; 

"  nothing   could  be  better  —  nothing   could  be 

more  providential,    as   I   might  say.     The  men 

smoking    their    pipes    and    cracking    owre    the 

news;   the    thing    will    come    up    as    natural   as 
8  113 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

ye  like.  I'm  willing  to  tell  a'  I  ken  at  the 
right  time,  however  painfu'  it  may  be,  but, 
Mrs.  Lonen,  it  maun  be  real  private,  ye  ken, 
and  he  maun  speir." 

VVindy-yett  had  for  some  time  been  standing 
at  the  parlour  door  cap  in  hand,  trying  in- 
efifectually  to  attract  his  wife's  attention.  Mrs. 
Lonen  was  the  first  to  catch  sight  of  him,  and 
having  promised  to  mention  the  matter  to  her 
husband,  the  farmer's  wife,  satisfied  that  the 
leaven  would  work,  bustled  out  of  the  room. 

"  Save  us  guidwife,  ye're  among  gentry  the 
day  !  "  said  Windy-yett,  rendered  jocose  by  the 
self-complacent  glow  on  his  partner's  face. 

"  Ay,  among  the  gentry  no  less,"  she  replied, 
"  wi'  a  General  to  serve  's  too  ;  but  I've  tell't  my 
story  to  that  body  Mrs.  Lonen,  and  there'll  be 
few  in  Kilspindie  that'll  no  hear't  or  the  day's 
dune." 

The  farmer  was  wishful  that  his  wife  should 
stand  by  and  prompt  him  at  the  bidding,  in 
order,  as  he  said,  that  there  might  be  "  no 
back-spangs."  The  basis  of  their  mutual  under- 
standing, moreover,  had  been  slightly  disturbed 
by  the  information  he  had  received  from  the 
114 


A    ROUP   AT   SMIDDY-YARD 

smith.  The  understanding  was  as  to  the  prob- 
able price  at  which  the  horse  might  go.  He 
had  learned  that  the  beast  had  received  an 
injury,  and  was  now  a  "  roarer." 

"  Then  it  should  go  a  fivc-pound-note 
cheaper,  at  the  very  least,"  Mrs.  Cowie  re- 
marked. "  Gavin  Lindsay,  the  innkeeper  at 
Dalwhinzie,  I  am  told,  wants  the  horse  for  gig 
use,  and  may  bid  against  ye ;  but  dinna  fail 
to  let  him  hear  it's  a  roarer.  The  creature,  I'm 
told,  is  a  willing  beast,  and  would  serve  us  weel 
enough  for  leisurely  work.  A  dram  '11  no  be 
lost  on  Pringle  gin  ye  get  him  to  gi'e  the  horse 
a  guid  race  before  the  bidding  begins." 

Windy-yett,  armed  by  his  wife's  authority 
to  give  and  take  refreshment  after  the  purchase, 
sought  the  smith  and  confided  his  plan  to  him. 

"Wants  it  for  the  gig,  does  he?"  said  the 
latter  with  a  significant  nod,  then  he  took  the 
halter  from  the  stable-boy,  slapped  the  creature 
on  the  flank,  and  set  off  at  a  violent  pace  down 
the  field.  When  he  returned  Gavin  Lindsay 
seemed  to  have  his  mouth  buttoned  at  both 
ends,  and  Wattie  Dron,  the  cadger  from  Kil- 
mallie,  who  aspired  to  a  horse,  got  to  the  end 
"5 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

of  his  means  by  one  opposition  bid,  so  that 
the  roarer  fell  to  Cowie  considerably  under 
its  intrinsic  value  as  a  serviceable  horse. 

Windy-yett  and  his  friend  waited  till  General 
Alexander  had  made  his  purchase,  which  was 
completed  after  brisk  competition  between 
himself  and  the  factor,  then  they  retired  to  the 
Railway  inn  for  the  well-earned  dram. 

Meantime  the  assistant  auctioneer  had  just 
disposed  of  the  contents  of  one  of  the  rooms 
inside,  and  Effie  Dougan,  in  company  with 
Elspeth  Marshall,  was  leaving  the  house 
laughing  and  chatting  over  the  incidents  of 
the  sale. 

"Cock   her  up,"  said   the  latter,  "the  siller 

has  turned   that  woman's  head,  I'm    thinking; 

a  farmer's  wife  going  for  to  buy  an  article  like 

thon." 

"  Eh,    she   was  clean    set    on 't,"    responded 

Mistress  Dougan,  "  and  was  oot  and  in  the  room 

a'   day  like  a   peeweet  watchin'   its  nest.     But 

wasna   the   ither   a    funny  bit  —  '  Mrs.    Cowie, 

you're  bidding  again'    yoursel','    says  the  unc- 

tioneer,     '  Is  it  mine  yet?  '  says  she,  in  an  unco 

pliskie.      '  No,'    says    he,  and  she    noddet   her 
ii6 


A   ROUP   AT   SMIDDY-YARD 

head    again."      The    two    gossips    passed    on 
laughing. 

When  Cowie  returned  from  the  inn  he  found 
his  wife  packing  some  crockery  in  the  boot 
of  the  dog-cart.  She  had  heard  from  Coultar- 
mains  what  her  husband  had  paid  for  the  horse, 
and  this,  combined  with  her  own  purchases, 
had  produced  a  flush  of  pleasure  and  a  feeling 
of  uncommon  amiability. 

"  Ye'll  no  guess  what  I've  bought,"  she  said, 
inviting  inquiry  after  they  had  yoked,  and  were 
on  their  way  out  of  the  thick  of  the  home-going 
vehicles. 

"  I  saw  ye  putting  past  some  delf,"  he  said, 
thinking  only  of  how  he  and  the  smith  had 
managed  the  purchase  of  the  horse. 

"  Na,  that  was  nothing  but  some  coorse 
crockery-gear  for  Nance  to  break,  it's  something 
that'll  surprise  ye.  I  bought  the  Smiddy-yard 
book-case." 

"What,  yon  great  press  wi'  the  gless  doors?" 
"Ay,"    she    answered,  with     defiant     good- 
nature, "  the  book-case  and  the  books.     T  have 
the   key   in   my    purse.     What    d'ye    think    o' 
that !  " 

117 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

"  Lord  save  us !  "  He  let  the  whip-lash  fall 
about  Bess'  ears  in  a  way  that  made  her  think 
she  was  expected  to  break  into  a  gallop,  "  Wo, 
then,  woa,  lass.  Are  ye  gaun  to  let  books  oot 
at  so  much  a  week?" 

"  Na,  na,"  she  repHed,  "  it's  pairt  o'  my  plans. 
I  got  the  thing  cheap  wi'  Bell's  siller,  and  of 
course  it  will  gang  wi'  Bell.  Mr.  Congalton 
is  a  great  writer  himsel',  and  I'm  sure  he'll 
no  think  onything  the  less  o'  her  for  having 
a  guid  leebrary  o'  books." 


ii8 


CHAPTER  X 

ISAAC   KILGOUR   COGITATES 

The  scene  of  Isaac  Kilgour's  daily  occupation 
was  enclosed  on  three  sides  by  hedges  of  thorn 
and  privet,  and  on  the  fourth  by  a  rubble  wall, 
exposed  to  the  southern  sun.  The  wall  was 
veined  with  healthful  shiny  branches,  amongst 
which  various  fruits  ripened  under  fostering 
leaves.  There  was  a  rockery  in  the  centre  of  the 
enclosure,  surrounded  by  a  moat  or  trench,  in 
which  flowed  constantly  a  crystal  purl  of  cool 
spring  water.  On  this  point  the  walks  con- 
verged, sloping  downward.  It  was  a  garden  of 
the  old-fashioned  type,  containing  gnarled  bushes 
with  red  globes  and  pendant  clusters  of  fruit, 
pots  where  celery  blanched,  solid  lines  of  peas, 
cabbages,  leeks,  green  kale,  and  such  other  vege- 
table varieties  as  could  be  turned  to  useful 
119 


DOCTOR    CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

account  at  any  season  of  the  year  by  a  thrifty 
house-wife  in  the  exercise  of  her  culinary  duties. 
There  were  flower-beds  and  borders  with  roses 
in  abundance,  wallflowers  whose  blooms  were 
now  shed,  phloxes,  and  other  perennial  plants 
that  gave  little  trouble.  So  far  as  the  soil  was 
concerned,  there  was  nothing  to  hinder  abundant 
blossoming  and  fruiting  for,  as  its  late  owner  used 
to  say,  "  If  ye  are  kind  to  the  grun'  the  grun'  will 
be  kind  to  you,"  and  he  treated  his  garden  on 
this  principle.  Yet  this  enclosure,  with  all  its 
natural  powers  of  production,  had  one  draw- 
back —  it  was  infested  with  moles.  Now  if  there 
was  any  mundane  thing  that  Isaac  Kilgour  hated 
more  than  another  it  was  moles.  The  eruptive 
disturbance  by  these  eident  creatures  of  care- 
fully prepared  seed-beds,  when  labour  and  ex- 
pectation were  coming  to  fruition,  was  enough 
to  ruffle  a  more  philosophic  mind  than  Isaac 
Kilgour's.  He  had  tried  traps,  but  the  cunning 
"yearthly  deevils  "  had  learned  to  give  them  the 
go-bye.  Isaac,  however,  was  a  dogged  man 
when  thwarted.  There  was  another  method 
recently  adopted  by  him  in  dealing  with  these 
subterranean  enemies   which  had   proved  more 

I20 


ISAAC    KILGOUR    COGITATES 

effective  in  their  destruction.  He  bought  a  narrow 
trenching  spade  which  the  smith  had  ground 
and  set  to  the  keenness  of  a  knife-blade.  With 
this  implement  he  would  steal  out  on  the  early 
summer  and  autumn  mornings  in  felt  slippers, 
and  taking  his  stand  where  he  could  see  the  first 
quiverings  of  the  soil,  he  would  move  noiselessly 
to  the  spot,  and  strike  with  remorseless  aim  into 
the  loose  earth.  Isaac  had  attained  remarkable 
skill  in  these  operations,  and  his  spade  was 
seldom  unearthed  without  sanguinary  evidence 
that  the  enemy  had  suffered.  He  had  some  of 
the  instincts  of  a  true  sportsman,  and  the 
pleasure  of  slaughter  in  this  special  direction  had 
grown  into  a  passion  like  fishing  or  shooting. 
The  thought  of  it  drew  him  early  from  bed.  At 
times  he  would  bring  forth  the  parrot  and  hang 
the  cage  on  some  sunny  spot  where  the  inquisi- 
tive, ever-observant  eye  of  the  bird  could  see. 
"Clip  the  moudie,  clip  the  moudie, "  it  would 
cry  encouragingly,  as  it  watched  the  gardener 
moving  cat-like  to  the  scene  of  action.  Then 
when  the  blow  was  struck  it  would  chuckle  a 
strange  guttural  laugh,  and  commence  in  a  high- 
toned,  fairly  soft  voice  to  sing  what  might  have 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

been  the  post-mortem  reflections  of  the  mole  — 
"Up  in  the  morning's  no  for  me,  up  in  the 
morning  ear — ley." 

It  was  a  blue,  cloudless  morning;  such  per- 
fume-bearing roses  as  the  garden  possessed  were 
past,  but  there  was  the  scent  of  old-fashioned 
carnations  and  southernwood  in  the  dewy  air. 
The  comings  and  goings  of  footsteps  were  visible 
in  the  grass  where  lines  of  dullness  marred  the 
diamond  glitter  of  the  dew.  Isaac  had  already 
struck  his  spade  with  mortal  directness  six  times 
into  the  rising  soil.  He  paused  to  wipe  the 
perspiration  from  under  his  cap,  for  there  was 
excitement  in  this  occupation  which  aided  the 
physical  exercise  in  giving  pace  to  his  not  over 
active  blood.  The  morning  was  too  far  advanced 
for  such  pastime,  even  although  there  had  been 
moles  left  to  tempt  further  mortality.  The  par- 
rot had  witnessed  the  activity  of  its  master, 
and  was  in  a  flutter  of  garrulous  excitement. 
Many  new  phrases  had  got  into  its  mimic  head, 
caught  up  from  Eva  and  the  governess,  whose 
tones,  as  well  as  words,  it  could  reproduce  with 
remarkable  accuracy.  Isaac  sat  down  on  a 
block  of  wood  under  an  umbrageous  maple,  and 


ISAAC    KILGOUR   COGITATES 

lighting  his  half-filled  short  clay  pipe,  let  the 
creature  talk. 

"  Pretty  Poll,  pretty  Poll  — ey — clever  bird — 
O  —  you  bee — uty, "  it  went  on;  occasionally 
lapsing  into  the  vernacular,  "  Eh,  baud  yer 
tongue  —  irr  ye  there ?  —  there's  Janet. " 

Isaac  sat  looking  dreamily  at  the  rockery 
without  seeing  it.  He  was  the  last  of  his  family. 
Old  Tam  Kilgour,  his  father,  had  been,  to  Isaac's 
shame,  the  latest  survivor.  He  was  a  notorious 
poacher,  and  too  fond  of  a  dram ;  even  other- 
wise he  had  not  been  a  good  man.  Perhaps  the 
best  that  could  be  said  of  him  was  said  by  Willie 
Faill,  when  he  and  others  had  been  invited  to  see 
him  before  being  "  nailed  doon. "  "  Weel,  weel, " 
Willie  said,  scratching  his  head  in  a  swither, 
"there  lies  Tam  Kilgour;  whatever  waggin 
tongues  might  say  aboot  him  when  in  life,  he 
maks  a  real  decent  corp. "  Isaac  had  no  near 
relatives  alive  that  he  could  trace.  He  had  been 
brought  up  in  Mauchline,  where  in  youth  he  was 
engaged  as  a  stable-boy.  Later  lie  was  trans- 
ferred to  Kilspindie  to  drive  Dr.  Congalton's 
carriage,  and  fill  up  his  spare  time  in  the  garden. 

He  and  Mistress  Izet  had  grown  old  together  in 
123 


DOCTOR  CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

the  same  service.      She  was  his  junior  by  perhaps 
five  years.     In  early  life  she  had  a  fair  dower  of 
comeliness,  to  which  Isaac  was  not  insensible.    It 
could  not  be  said  he  courted  her  —  he  was  rather 
shy  for  that.     The  young  housekeeper,  however, 
was  too  human  to  keep  him  altogether  out  of  her 
thoughts.    Probably  if  things  had  been  left  alone, 
mutual  regard  might  have  come  to  the  fruition 
of  matrimony.      Zedie  Lawson's  wife  was   the 
unintentional  means  of  putting  an  end  to   her 
sister's  prospects  in  this  direction.      She  was  a 
presumptuous,   masterful  woman,  but  her  force 
of   character   had  no   feminine    delicacy   in    it. 
Unknown  to  her  sister  she  sent  for  Isaac,  and 
said  bluntly  to  him  she  thought  it  was  high  time 
he  was  marrying  Janet.      From  that  moment  the 
spell  under  which  the  young  couple  were   in- 
sensibly creeping  was  broken.     Janet  Izet  was 
distressed   at   the    unwisdom,    not    to    say    im- 
modesty, of  her  sister's  interference;  and  Isaac's 
shyness  and  Janet's  sense  of  shame  took  such  a 
severe  form  of  self-consciousness,  that  for  many 
a  day  they  never  spoke  to  each   other,   unless 
compelled  to  do  so  by  the  call  of  duty.     Out  of 
this  period  of  constraint  they  emerged  in  the 
124 


ISAAC   KILGOUR   COGITATES 

course  of  years,  but  it  was  as  if  the}^  had  been 
born  again  in  the  relationship  of  brother  and 
sister.  They  were  cognisant  of  each  other's 
weaknesses,  about  which  they  spoke  freely,  and 
each  other's  good  qualities,  but  of  these  they  had 
no  mutual  converse  at  all. 

The  leaf  shadows  were  fluttering  like  lark- 
wings  on  the  garden  walk  while  Isaac  smoked. 
Physically  he  was  exhausted  with  his  morn- 
ing's work —  or  sport,  for  it  had  the  elements  of 
both. 

"The  moudies  are  by  for  the  day,"  he  said, 
speaking  vaguely  in  the  air,  but  it  had  not  been 
of  the  "  moudies  "  he  was  thinking  during  the 
last  ten  minutes  of  reflective  idleness.  "  There's 
Janet,"  screamed  the  bird  at  his  side,  and  then  it 
sent  out  a  metallic  peal  of  cackling  laughter,  as 
its  master  turned  his  head  involuntarily  toward 
the  kitchen  door,  for  it  was  indeed  of  her  he 
had  been  idly  dreaming  during  his  reverie.  The 
night  before  Mistress  Izet  and  Isaac  had  been 
summoned  into  Mr.  Congalton's  study,  where  he 
supplemented  his  knowledge  of  the  history  of 
their  connection  with  the  house  by  personal  in- 
quiry. He  told  them  it  was  his  present  intention 
"5 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

to  remain  at  Kilspindie  for  a  time,  but  that  cir- 
cumstances might  occur  to  call  him  away  at  once, 
either  for  a  considerable  period  or  permanently. 
Should  the  latter  event  take  place  —  and  it  was 
not  unl  ikely  —  he  would  arrange,  in  virtue  of  their 
long  service  to  his  brother,  that  such  provision 
should  be  made  as  would  help  to  keep  them 
from  want  during  the  remainder  of  their  lives. 
It  was  his  wish  that  in  the  meantime  they 
should  continue  their  duties  under  him  as  they 
had  done  under  his  late  brother,  but  he  thought 
it  due  to  them,  as  old  and  faithful  servants,  to 
make  them  aware  of  his  intentions,  that  they 
might  be  in  no  perplexity  about  the  future. 

Isaac  had  retired  to  his  castle  of  one  apartment 
as  if  it  had  been  a  baronial  residence.  Indeed 
the  assurance  of  being  preser\'ed  from  actual 
want  was  to  him  more  than  a  superfluity  of 
wealth,  for,  as  he  thought  in  his  own  mind, 
money  beyond  what  is  requisite  to  satisfy  one's 
personal  needs  as  often  as  not  brings  the  reverse 
of  happiness.  During  the  watches  of  the  night 
he  had  rolled  this  sweet  morsel  of  intelligence 
under  a  metaphorical  tongue.  It  was  so  com- 
forting to  possess  a  secure  sense  of  immediate 
126 


ISAAC    KILGOUR   COGITATES 

independence.  Under  its  stimulus  he  had  risen 
early  and  killed  six  moles.  But  as  the  day 
advanced  the  mental  horizon  had  widened  and 
let  in  other  considerations.  For  over  thirty 
years  he  had  gone  in  and  out  of  Broomfields 
finding  his  simple  prayer  for  daily  bread 
answered  with  unfailing  regularity.  Breakfast 
at  eight,  dinner  at  twelve,  tea  at  five,  and  brose 
before  going  to  bed,  barring  the  interference  of 
professional  irregularities,  but  even  when  these 
infrequent  exigencies  inter\'ened  something  hot 
and  toothsome  was  always  forthcoming  by  the 
time  he  got  the  mare  stabled  and  fed.  Such 
washing,  dressing,  and  mending  as  he  required 
were  done  so  unobtrusively  that  he  almost  forgot 
he  had  this  blessing  also  to  be  thankful  for. 
Now  and  again  he  was  partially  awakened  to 
the  consideration  of  what  was  being  done  for 
him  by  the  remark  —  "  Ye'  11  gang  on  wearing  thae 
flannens  till  they' 11  no  wash  white,"  or,  "Ye  maun 
get  a  pair  or  twa  o'  new  socks  for  yer  feet,  or 
ye' 11  sune  be  like  a  body  I  kent  in  Houston 

parish "    Besides  this,  to  a  lonely  man  whose 

temper  sometimes  gave  way  by  contact  with  an 

unfeeling  world  outside,  it  was  always  a  com- 

127 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

fort  to  have  some  one  to  scold.  Mistress  Izet 
knew  his  constitution  and  did  not  speak  back, 
but  gave  him  physic;  moreover,  she  was  always 
telling  him  things,  and  even  when  he  did  not 
care  to  listen  to  her  talk  she  was  there.  These 
matters  had  passed  through  his  mind  in  vague 
procession  while  he  was  putting  on  his  clothes, 
and  now  he  began  to  see  them  in  a  clearer  light. 
Mere  monetary  considerations  are  not  everything 
in  the  lot  of  a  human  being.  He  had  not  been 
aware  that  Janet's  presence  was  to  any  great 
extent  a  comfort  to  him  till  he  commenced 
deliberately  to  think  about  the  probability  of 
losing  it.  Isaac  had  reached  this  point  in  his 
ruminations,  when  the  parrot  screamed,  "There's 
Janet,"  and  with  that  personage  on  his  mind  he 
naturally  turned  his  head  to  be  greeted  with  an 
eldrich  laugh,  as  if  the  uncanny  creature  knew 
his  thoughts.  What  if  Mr.  Congalton  went 
away  altogether,  as  he  said  was  likely.?  The 
household  would  be  broken  up,  and  the  place 
taken  probably  by  the  Bleachfield  people, 
who  would  do  their  own  gardening.  Janet 
might  go  to  that  "  randy  "  woman,  her  sister, 
and  Zedie  would  not    weave  a  stroke   as    long 


ISAAC    KILGOUR   COGITATES 

as  her  money  lasted.  As  for  him,  he  could  get 
a  cog  at  the  table  of  Sandy  Mimn  or  William 
Caughie.  Sandy  was  a  dyker,  and  had  an  im- 
moderately large  and  needy  family  in  which 
there  could  be  no  repose.  Then  again  the  thought 
of  William  Caughie' s  Sabbatic  face  and  attenu- 
ated red  nose  bestridden  by  the  horn  specs 
confronting  him  at  every  meal  aggravated  him 
into  articulate  utterance. 

"  No,  by  the  man  !  "  he  said,  "  no. "  This  was 
his  one  form  of  abjuration  when  speaking  under 
excitement.  If  things  could  go  on  as  they  were, 
he  felt  he  could  be  more  thankful  for  his  mercies 
than  ever  he  had  been  before.  Who  would  put 
up  with  the  parrot  as  Janet  had  done,  or  indeed, 
for  that  matter,  who  would  put  up  with  himself.' 

"Isaac,  Isaac,  let  the  bruit  awa'."  The  gar- 
dener put  past  his  pipe.  Then  he  rose  and  went 
over  to  the  cage. 

"No,"  he  said,  speaking  to  the  bird  with  an 
unusually  grave  expression  of  face,  "  we  maunna 
be  separated,  you  and  me.  We  canna  mak'  new 
friends  at  oor  time  o'  day." 

The  bird  evidently  concluded  that  his  master 
was  in  a  conversational  mood,  and  that  it  would 
9  129 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

not  be  consistent  with  sociable  fitness  that  the 
talk  should  be  all  on  one  side,  so  it  set  its 
voice  to  the  soft  high  tones  of  the  governess' 
voice,  and  commenced  to  sing  —  "  Up  in  the 
morning's  no  for  me,  up  in  the  morning  ear  — 
ley."  Then  coming  down  to  the  normal  pitch, 
it  screamed  with  a  flash  of  excitement  in 
its  black  eyes — "Isaac,  there's  Janet.  Irr  ye 
there?" 

As  a  matter  of  coincidence  this  was  true,  for  at 
that  moment  the  housekeeper  appeared  at  the 
garden  gate. 

"Your  parritch  is  dished  and  on  the  table," 
she  said;  "dinna  stan'  there  palarvering  wi'  that 
bruit  till  they're  dead  cauld." 

Isaac  was  glad  to  be  brought  back  from  the 

thought  of  uncongenial  possibilities  by  the  voice 

of  his  old  friend,  and  was  nothing  loath  to  obey 

the   rude   summons.       The    cogitations   of   the 

morning  had  brought  into  the  life  of  this  lonely 

man   new   thoughts    and   new   feelings,    which 

seemed  to  trend  entirely  to  one  result.      He  took 

the  cage  in  his  hand.      "  Oo  —  ay, "  he  said,  "  we 

maun  tak'  time  to  think  farder  o't,  my  pretty 

Poll.     We  have  been  pushed  into  a  bonny  maze 
130 


ISAAC    KILGOUR   COGITATES 

this   morning,    but  ony  maze  that    ever  I  have 
seen  had  aye  ae  ootlet. " 

This  remark  provoked  the  parrot  into  a  rasp- 
ing paroxysm  of  laughter,  which  continued  till 
they  were  half-way  up  the  outside  stair. 


131 


CHAPTER   XI 

A  JOURNALIST  ON   FURLOUGH 

George  Congalton  had  returned  from  Lon- 
don on  a  working  furlough.  He  had  a  retain- 
ing fee,  and  a  white  card,  to  write  on  any  subject 
he  thought  would  be  interesting;  but  he  was 
to  hold  himself  in  readiness,  in  the  event  of 
being  required  for  foreign  service.  His  book 
—  Sketches  of  a  Special  Correspondent  in  the 
Recent  War  —  was  daily  attracting  fresh  notice, 
and  drawing  forth  golden  opinions  from  the 
reviews ;  but  though  his  name  was  in  all  the 
journals,  his  fame  had  not  yet  reached  Kilspindie. 
Mr.  Lonen,  the  school-master,  had  read  the 
book  and  passed  it  on  to  the  minister;  but  to 
all  others  he  was  simply  —  Dr.  Congalton's 
brother.  Though  a  Scotchman  by  birth,  he 
had  spent  most  of  his  life  in  connection  with 

the  metropolitan  press.     It  is  true  he  began  his 
132 


A  JOURNALIST   ON   FURLOUGH 

journalistic  career  in  Scotland,  but  at  an  early 
period  he  was  removed  from  the  Scottish  weekly 
on  which  he  was  engaged  to  manage  a  news- 
agency  in  London.  It  was  the  early  days. of 
such  agencies,  and  Congalton  distinguished 
himself  by  doing  most  of  the  work  with  his 
own  hand.  They  had  numerous  correspon- 
dents who  sent  in  the  dry  bones  on  which  he 
put  the  literary  flesh.  His  pen  was  facile ;  his 
imagination  impressive.  Humour  he  had,  but 
it  was  serviceable  only  for  private  use.  He 
knew  too  well  the  limits  of  a  news-agency  to 
try  it  there.  Congalton  had  a  wonderful  in- 
stinct for  the  space  value  of  news.  He  under- 
stood the  lines  on  which  public  interest  could 
be  roused,  and  the  amount  of  sentiment  that 
might  safely  be  used  to  satisfy  it.  Let  it  be  a 
fire,  a  colliery  accident,  a  railway  disaster,  or 
an  item  from  the  seat  of  war  —  anything  pic- 
turesque or  appalling,  six  lines  of  a  telegram 
in  his  hands  was  good  for  half  a  column  that 
would  stir  the  emotions  and  hasten  the  blood. 
On  the  other  hand,  a  column  of  well-written 
matter  would  fall  into  a  paragraph,  without 
regret,  or  the  sacrifice  of  an  essential  fact,  if 
^3i 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

the  public  wanted  it  not.  His  readiness  of 
resource  procured  him  a  tempting  offer  for 
service  in  troublous  times  abroad.  There  were 
marvellous  stories  told  of  him  as  a  war  corres- 
pondent—  under  what  difficulties  he  wrote  — 
his  long  and  exhaustive  rides  to  post  and  tele- 
graph office.  These  things  were  chronicled 
afterwards,  but  no  one  dreamed  of  them  on 
reading  the  brief  but  comprehensive  telegrams, 
and  the  brilliant  descriptive  articles  that  fol- 
lowed ;  there  was  grasp,  generalship,  a  sense 
of  military  dash  and  movement  in  his  writing 
which  drew  the  eyes  of  Europe  to  the  war 
columns  of  the  Morning  Despatch.  Yet  this 
clever  pressman  was  the  most  unmethodical  of 
men.  He  made  notes  at  all  times  and  every- 
where —  on  the  backs  of  old  envelopes,  on  blank 
pages  of  letters,  margins  of  newspapers,  or  in- 
deed on  any  scrap  of  paper  that  lay  to  his  hand 
in  camp  or  battle-field,  but  how  these  were  reck- 
oned with  afterwards  and  brought  to  useful 
account  remained  his  own  secret.  While  en- 
joying change  of  scene  at  Kilspindie,  and  freed 
from  the  exigencies  of  daily  responsibility,  he 
did  not  remain  idle.  He  amused  himself  with 
134 


A   JOURNALIST   ON    FURLOUGH 

rod  and  gun,  but  true  to  his  training,  his  eye 
and  ear  were  ever  on  the  alert  for  "  copy." 
Indeed  he  was  himself  astonished  at  the  wealth 
of  material  that  lay  around  him.  When  once 
his  curiosity  was  aroused  he  was  not  slow  to 
question  and  investigate,  and  this  came  to  be 
talked  of  at  the  Brig-end. 

The  candle-maker  declared  he  would  "  speir 
the  bottom  oot  o'  a  kitty  byne,"  but  the  cart- 
wright  had  a  ready  and  enlightened  defence, 
which  received  the  adherent  applause  of  Jaik 
Short  and  Tilly  Brogan  the  merchant.  "  Na," 
the  cartwright  had  said,  "  I  am  nane  again 
looking  into  things  —  the  man  that  has  the 
courage  to  speir  questions  is  aye  learnin'. 
Some  folk'll  no  ask  questions  for  fear  o'  show- 
ing their  ain  ignorance ;  we're  a'  i'  the  schule 
yet.  Even  I'm  no  abune  carrying  a  satchel 
mysel'." 

Congalton's  northern  contributions  to  the 
Despatch  were  remarkably  clever,  and  attracted 
the  attention  of  literary  London.  Some  of 
them  found  their  way  into  the  county  paper, 
and  were  read  in  Kilspindie.  The  studies  were 
from  life,  and  touched  familiar  ground,  but  no 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

one  recognized  himself,  and  so  far  as  the 
writer  could  discover  nobody  suspected  their 
authorship. 

One  day  while  in  search  of  something  in  his 
daughter's  school-room  he  came  across  the 
local  paper  containing  copious  extracts  from 
one  of  his  own  sketches.  It  was  marked  on 
each  side  of  the  headline  by  a  cross,  and  the 
name,  written  on  the  paper  itself,  was  "  Miss 
Hetty  Hazlet."  Of  the  governess  herself  Con- 
galton  had  seen  but  little.  His  daughter  paid 
him  daily  visits,  and  he  was  pleased  with  the 
progress  she  was  making.  Her  manners  were 
gentle  and  lady-like,  and  he  felt  sure  this  was  the 
result  of  contact  with  a  refined  and  cultured 
mind.  Having  discovered  this  marked  news- 
paper he  proceeded  to  speculate  on  the  coinci- 
dence. To  Congalton  this  fresh  departure  in 
journalism  was  a  species  of  recreation  which  lay 
in  the  line  of  his  own  liking.  The  new  power 
was  a  discovery  which  surprised  and  pleased 
him.  Following  this  revelation  there  came  a 
desire  for  sympathy  —  for  a  confidant  who  could 
stand  on  the  other  side  of  the  hedge,  as  it  were, 

and  cry  things   over  to  him.     The  feeling  be- 
136 


A   JOURNALIST   ON    FURLOUGH 

trayed  a  strange  vanity  amounting  to  feebleness, 
and  was  a  curious  trait  in  the  character  of  a 
reserved  and  self-trustful  man.  At  one  time 
he  had  thought  of  confiding  his  secret  to  the 
school-master.  Mr.  Lonen  was  in  some  ways  a 
colourless  man.  He  held  the  opinion  that  there 
was  little  prose  writing  since  the  Elizabethan 
period  worthy  of  the  name  of  literature.  He 
himself  wrote  sonnets.  He  laughed  and  wept 
in  sonnets.  There  was  no  occasion  too  blithe  or 
sacred  for  them,  though  they  were  mostly  in  the 
minor  key.  He  called  them  "  fourteen  line  epics," 
and  covered  the  landscape  with  them ;  even  Dr. 
Congalton's  memory  did  not  escape.  Yet  it  was 
not  wholly  on  this  account  that  this  mighty 
trust  was  withheld  from  him  ;  however  wrong 
his  views  and  however  wretched  his  verse  might 
be,  he  could  keep  a  secret  from  his  neighbours 
—  his  wife  could  not.  The  crossed  newspaper 
had  arrested  Congalton.  What  about  this  Miss 
Hazlet?  She  was  an  educated  person,  and 
had  read  portions  of  at  least  one  of  these 
articles. 

He  had  reached  this  point  when  Mistress  Izet 
knocked  at  the  study  door  and  announced  the 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

Rev.  Mr.  Maconkey.  The  minister  had  made  a 
ceremonious  call  once  before  after  his  brother's 
death,  but  they  had  not  met  since  Congalton's 
return.  Maconkey  was  a  tall,  cadaverous  man 
with  a  limited  mental  horizon,  fairly  suited  as 
a  frame  for  his  orthodoxy.  Natural  bias  of 
conscience  almost  brought  him  out  at  the  Dis- 
ruption, but  his  mother  put  him  on  a  preparatory 
course  of  spare  diet  which  wrecked  his  determi- 
nation. Later  in  life  he  was  at  times  inclined  to 
be  dolorous  in  his  preaching,  but  as  the  manse 
maid  (she  was  a  woman  of  fifty)  told  Mrs. 
Lonen,  the  "  mistress  always  gied  him  a  Colli- 
sen's  pill  on  the  Fridays  to  lichten  his  liver." 

Maconkey's  habits  of  study  were  peculiar. 
For  one  whole  day  in  every  seven  he  darkened 
his  study  window  and  lay  on  his  stomach  on  a 
couch  arranging  his  sermon  for  the  following 
Sunday.  He  was  what  was  called  a  doctrinal 
preacher,  and  one  of  his  favourite  doctrines 
was  infant  baptism.  Congalton  could  not  help 
recalling  an  incident  narrated  by  the  school- 
master bearing  on  this  subject  while  listening 
good-naturedly  to  the  solemn,  formal,  intro- 
ductory  words    of  his    visitor.      The    previous 


A   JOURNALIST   ON    FURLOUGH 

ploughman  at  Mossfennan,  having  an  imperative 
reason  for  visiting  the  manse,  was  inadvertently 
shown  into  the  study  on  one  of  the  minister's 
"  dark  days."  It  was  an  "  eerie  reception,"  he 
said,  "  in  the  hcht  o'  day,"  but  he  was  trying  to 
compose  himself  "  i'  the  mirk,"  when  suddenly 
a  tall  masterful  figure  gathered  itself  from  tlie 
couch  into  stern  and  interrogative  erectness 
The  frightened  ploughman  was  retiring  in 
undignified  haste,  fearing  that  the  prince  of 
darkness,  from  whom  he  had  been  taught  to 
flee,  was  at  his  heels.  The  pursuing  voice, 
however,  was  the  minister's. 

"  Weel,  Saunders?  " 

"  Dod,  sir,  ye  gaed  me  a  deev  —  an  —  an  — 
unco  fricht,  I  assure  ye." 

The  minister  opened  a  wing  of  the  shutters 
and  let  the  light  in  temperately  on  the  plough- 
man's scared  face. 

"  It  was  very  inconsiderate  of  the  maid.  But 
state  your  business  briefly,  Saunders,  for,  to 
speak  truly,   I  am  busy  to-day." 

"Have  ye  no  heard  the  steer?"  Saunders 
inquired. 

"  Steer  about  what?" 

'39 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

"Aboot  the  guidwife.  Ye  kent,  of  course, 
that  she  was  vvechty  i'  the  fit,  but  she  brocht 
hame  a  bonny  bit  wean  a  week  by  on 
Tuesday." 

"  Then  ye'll  be  thuiking  about  the  solemn  rite 
of  baptism,"  said  the  minister. 

"  That's  aboot  it,"  rephed  Saunders.  "  The 
wife's  no  strong,  and  I  thocht  a  waff  o'  fresh  air 
frae  the  sea  wi'  her  mither  at  Troon  wud  gie  her 
heartin,  but  she'll  no  budge  a  fit  till  the  bit 
thing's  kirstened." 

"  Weel,  Saunders,  I  hope  your  views  are  quite 
clear  on  this  all-important  question  of  infant  bap- 
tism.   Do  you  not  think  your  wife  was  right?  " 

"  I  canna  say  she  wis,  sir,  but  then  ye  see 
weemen  hinna  minds  like  you  and  me  —  it's  clean 
supersteetious  a'thegither,  but  it  doesna  do  to 
thraw  wi'  them  when  they're  in  her  state.  I 
thocht  ye  wud  maybe  come  owre  by  i'  the 
gloamin,  and  scale  a  drap  or  twa  o'  watter  on 
the  bit  face." 

As    Congalton    sat   listening   with    an    air    of 

respectful  attention  to   the   deep    tones    of  the 

minister's   voice,   he   thought  of  the   indignant 

interruption   which   ensued,  and    of  the   severe 
140 


A   JOURNALIST   ON    FURLOUGH 

course  of  disciplinary  liandling  which  ultimately 
brought  the  humble  ploughman  with  trembling 
to  the  pulpit  steps  to  enrol  his  child  in  the 
register  of  the  Church  Militant.  To  speak  with 
candour,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Maconkey  did  not  relish 
the  duty  which  had  brought  him  to  Broomfields, 
but  a  sense  of  justice  impelled  him  to  perform 
it.  The  story  of  Miss  Hazlet's  secret  meeting 
with  her  cousin  had  lost  none  of  its  disreputable 
characteristics  by  passing  through  the  augmen- 
tive  mind  of  Mrs.  Lonen.  She  told  her  husband, 
but  was  so  vexed  by  his  indifference  that  \ancy 
Beedam  and  Mrs.  Caughie,  as  her  next  neigh- 
bours, got  it  under  monitorial  restrictions, 
"  Dinna  say  a  word,  but  watch  for  yoursel's." 
After  this  she  let  two  days  pass,  but  seeing 
no  outcome,  she  confided  it  to  the  minister's 
wife.  The  manse  was  a  kind  of  central  tele- 
phonic exchange  (though  such  an  institution  was 
then  unknown),  to  which  all  tales  involving  the 
parish  morals  travelled,  and  Mrs.  Maconkey  was 
the  person  to  whom  the  gossips  contrived  to 
get  switched  on.  In  point  of  fact,  Mrs.  Lonen 
was    not  the   first  to   convey  the  story  to  the 

manse.    Mrs.  Maconkey  had  alread)'  questioned 
141 


DOCTOR  CONGALTON'S  LEGACY 

the  governess  and  discovered  the  truth.  Poor 
Hetty  was  dreadfully  shocked  at  the  construction 
put  upon  her  simple  cousinly  act. 

What  if  Mr.  Congalton  had  already  heard  the 
story?  If  he  believed  it  he  could  not  consider 
her  a  fit  teacher  or  companion  for  his  daughter. 
How  could  she  live  in  the  place?  She  must  tell 
him,  and  resign  her  situation.  These  were  her 
first  thoughts  while  her  face  burned  with  shame 
and  indignation,  but  her  prudent,  matronly 
adviser  deprecated  hasty  action,  so  that  the  duty 
of  defending  the  innocent  and  rectifying  this 
wrong  fell  upon  the  minister.  Mr.  Maconkey 
narrated  the  incident  with  needless  gravity. 
This  village  life  seemed  of  huge  importance 
to  his  mind.  Such  defection,  if  true,  would  to 
him  have  had  almost  tragical  significance. 

Congalton  acknowledged  the  minister's  good 
offices  with  becoming  courtesy.  He  saw  his 
visitor  to  the  gate,  and  returned  to  put  the 
closing  sentences  to  the  article  on  which  he  was 
engaged.  There  was  humour  even  in  the  so- 
called  tragedies  of  these  rural  communities.  He 
thought   of    the    friendless    girl,    however,    and 

admitted  that  the  humour  would  be  more  appar- 
142 


A  JOURNALIST   ON    FURLOUGH 

ent  when  the  tragedies  were  impersonal.  He 
heard  Eva's  silvery  laugh  in  the  hall,  and  knew 
the  governess  and  she  had  returned  from  their 
afternoon  stroll.  In  truth,  Hetty  had  passed 
the  time  with  Mrs.  Maconkey  in  the  manse 
garden  till  the  minister's  return.  Congalton 
rang  the  bell,  and  asked  to  see  Miss  Hazlet. 

Hetty  came  in  pale,  but  self-possessed.  She 
had  the  bravery  of  an  honest  conscience. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  have  been  vexed  about  the 
gossip  of  these  silly  neighbours  of  ours,"  he 
began  lightly.  "  Mr.  Maconkey  has  told  me 
all,  and  I  think  it  was  very  proper  of  you  to  see 
your  cousin;  the  misfortune  for  both  was  that 
you  had  to  see  him  under  circumstances  that 
permitted  of  misunderstanding." 

"  I  did  not  dream  of  misunderstanding," 
Hetty  said.  "The  poor  boy  sought  my  help, 
and  I  was  anxious  to  do  the  best  I  could  for 
him." 

"Naturally.  Mr.  Maconkey  tells  me  of  your 
cousin's  return  to  his  father;  he  seems  to  have 
profited  by  your  advice.  It  was  worth  running 
some  risk  to  bring  about  that.  But  do  not 
think  ill  news  travels  fastest.  I  might  not  have 
143 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

known  of  this  apprehension  but  for  your  minis- 
ter, whereas  I  heard  from  several  hps  imme- 
diately on  my  return  of  your  courage  in  saving 
my  daughter  at  your  own  peril.  The  poor 
parochial  mind  has  few  resources  —  it  is  natural 
that  the  affairs  of  others  should  bulk  largely  in 
it  for  good  or  evil.  You  must  bear  with  and 
forgive  it.  Now  let  us  speak  of  something  else. 
I  was  in  the  school-room  by  accident  to-day  and 
saw  a  local  paper  addressed  to  you  with  an  arti- 
cle marked." 

''■  Yes,"  she  rephed,  looking  at  him  with  clear 
eyes,  "  my  sister  sent  it,  and  several  others  ;  I 
have  read  them  all." 

"  May  I  ask  if  they  interested  you?  " 

"  They  did."  Congalton  was  carried  forward 
by  a  smile  that  had  more  behind  it. 

"Now,  I  am  unreasonably  inquisitive,"  he 
said,  laughing  ;  "  but  had  you  any  suspicions 
as  to  the  authorship  of  these  articles?" 

"Well,"  she  said  frankly,  "I  knew  your  con- 
nection with  the  Despatch,  and  inferred  from 
internal  evidence  that  they  were  yours." 

"  You     know     Scottish    life    and     character 

well?" 

144 


A  JOURNALIST   ON    FURLOUGH 

"  I  am  a  daughter  of  the  manse,"  she  said 
simply. 

"  Ah,  that  means  much.  Well,  I  have  a  curi- 
ous interest  in  this  queer  place  and  its  people, 
but  when  writing  I  come  to  a  dead  wall  at  times 
over  difficulties  of  dialect,  and  other  matters 
about  which  I  may  take  the  liberty  to  consult 
you.  Having  found  me  out,  I  shall  trust  you  to 
keep  the  secret." 

The  interview  closed  with  a  formal  assurance 
that  he  was  well  satisfied  with  her  work  as  Eva's 
instructor.  Hetty  went  to  her  bedroom  and 
found  relief  in  tears,  but  they  were  the  tears  of 
April,  with  the  sun  and  a  brief  space  of  blue 
behind  ;  for  the  crisis  of  resigning  her  situation 
and  leaving  a  child  she  really  loved  had  been 
averted. 


145 


CHAPTER   XII 

KILSPINDIE 

To  a  writer  with  an  observant  eye  and  a 
cosmopolitan  mind  Kilspindie  parish  and  vil- 
lage really  had  many  features  that  were  worthy 
of  notice.  The  front  of  the  candle-maker's 
workshop  at  the  Brig-end  was  the  place  where, 
in  genial  weather,  the  mature  village  mind  was 
nurtured  by  the  mutual  exchange  of  such  ideas 
and  inspirations  as  might  move  it  under  the 
passing  influences  of  the  hour.  From  this  point 
the  eye  had  an  unembarrassed  survey  of  the 
river,  to  the  stepping  stones  leading  from  the 
Holm  to  the  Manse  brae.  Between  these 
points  and  below  Lippy  Barbour's  bleachfield 
there  was  a  deep  pool,  which  used  to  be  a 
favourite  resting  place  for  the  salmon,  but 
Lippy' s  acid  had    spoiled   all    that.     Any    one 

coming   across    old    Bowlie    Dempster,    in    the 
146 


KILSPINDIE 

lapse  of  rheumatics,  at  Brig-end  would  be  sure 
of  one  fishing  story  at  least.  Bowlie  would  lay 
his  chin  on  the  parapet,  with  one  eye  fixed  on 
the  salmon  pool,  and  the  other  on  the  pro- 
jecting bleachfield  wall  —  for  he  could  see  two 
ways  at  a  time  —  and  tell  about  the  "burning 
of  the  waters  "  in  the  days  when  leistering  was 
thought  no  sin.  In  a  fair  round  of  poaching 
experience  this  pool  was  the  central  glory, 
for  it  nearly  cost  him  his  life.  But  it  was  a 
story  he  loved  to  set  Angus  Pringle,  the  smith, 
to  tell. 

"  I  was  just  kenlin'  the  smiddy  fire  in  the  grey 
o'  the  mornin',''  —  Congalton  had  brought  the 
two  worthies  together,  and  Bowlie  was  smirking 
and  fidging  to  hear  his  friend  tell  the  exploit 
once  again,  —  "  when  my  frien'  Bowlie  here  comes 
in  a'  oot  o'  breath,  wi'  een  as  big  as  saucers." 

"Hear  till  him,"  interrupted  Dempster, 
"canny  before  the  gentleman."  —  "'Dod, '  says 
I,  '  ye  have  surely  risen  aff  yer  wrang  side 
this  morning;'  but  the  long  and  the  short 
o't  was  the  man  had  seen  a  salmon  i'  the  Park- 
yett  pool." 

"Tell    the    size   o't,"    cried    Dempster   with 
147 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

anticipating  eagerness;  but  the  smith  waved 
the  interruption  aside  as  premature. 

"  So  eftergienhis  leister  tvva turns  on  thegrun- 
stane,  Bowlie  took  to  his  heels  and  I  followed 
at  my  leisure.  I  stood  back  and  waited  on  the 
brig,  but  could  see  fine  frae  the  twist  o'  the 
man's  body  that  the  beast  was  still  there." 

"Just  whaur  I  left  it,"  said  Dempster,  "wi' 
its  side  again'  a  bit  stane,  thinking  it  was  holed ; 
but  the  funny  bit  's  coming;  go  on,  smith,  and 
tell  what  happened  syne." 

"  Weel,  while  I  was  looking  I  sees  him  taking 
aim  —  and  —  bang  gangs  the  leister." 

"Clean  through  the  fish,"  was  Bowlie's  eager 
interpolation. 

"  Oh,  through  the  fish  fair  eneugh,"  the  smith 
admitted  without  a  qualm.  "  Things  were  slack 
efter-hin  for  aboot  the  space  o'  four  ticks  o'  the 
nock,  when  a  steer  begude  that  ended  in  a 
deevil  o'  a  turry-wurry  between  man  and  beast ; 
but  I  saw  fine  frae  the  first  hoo  it  wud  be  — 
there  was  a  rive,  and  in  plunges  Bowlie  head 
first  still  haudin'  on  by  the  leister."  Here 
Dempster  slapped  Congalton  on  the  shoulder 
and  laughed  till  the  tears  dropped  on  the 
148 


KILSPINDIE 

smithy  floor.  Then  he  turned  to  the  smith 
with  the  eagerness  of  a  first  hearing,  and 
implored  him  to  go  on. 

"Thinkin'  the  craitm-  wud  droon, "  the  smith 
resumed,  "  I  dreeped  frae  the  brig  and  eased 
the  gallacies  frae  my  shouthers  as  I  ran,  for 
I  kent  Bovvlie  couldna  soom  a  stroke.  There 
they  were  —  fish,  leister,  and  man  —  ragin'  round 
and  round  the  pool.  Nanny  Welsh,  who  had 
come  oot  to  the  garden  wi'  some  hen's  meat, 
says  I  cried  till  'm  to  let  go,  but  whether  I  did 
or  whether  I  didna,  he  held  on.  Thinks  I,  my 
man,  ye  have  carried  war  into  the  enemy's 
country.  Gin  yer  so  thrawn  that  ye  winna  let 
go,  I'm  no  gaun  to  wat  my  skin  for  ye.  Wi' 
that  the  beast  gets  kina  tired." 

"And  still  I  bauds  on,"  cried  Dempster 
proudly. 

"Yes,  still  ye  bauds  on,  and  I  sees  a  bit 
smile  on  yer  face  as  if  ye  were  saying,  '  Noo 
I've  got  the  upper  hand  o'  ye,  wha's  got  the 
rynes  noo? '  " 

"That's  the  smith's  fancy,"  interrupted  Demp- 
ster,   rubbing   his    hands;    "at    times   ye   wud 

think  he  could  mak'  a  po'm." 
149 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

"  Weel,  at  lang  and  last,  the  beast  cam  near 
the  surface  and  turned  his  glittering  belly  to 
the  rising  sun,  —  the  current  brocht  them  into 
shawl  watter,  — and  Bowlie,  feeling  the  gravel 
under  his  knees,  sprachled  oot  and  brought 
his  prize  safe  to  the  bank." 

"What  wecht?  "  demanded  the  poacher. 

" Twenty-fower  pound,"  responded  the  sm_ith, 
"a'  barrin'  twa  unces;  it  was  weighed  that 
morning  on  the  merchant's  scales." 

Congalton  could  not  discover  that  Kilspindie 
figured  conspicuously  as  the  scene  of  any  great 
historical  event.  An  incident  occurred  in  the 
"Forty-five,"  but  the  Wheat  Sheaf  inn  had  the 
monopoly  of  it.  This  hostelry  stood  well  back 
from  the  road,  and  had  an  open  space  in  front 
for  the  convenience  of  vehicles  on  Sundays  and 
market  days.  The  building  was  single  storey 
and  thatched,  with  a  window  on  one  side  of 
the  entrance  and  two  on  the  other.  It  was 
said  Prince  Charlie  and  a  limited  retinue  had 
partaken  of  refreshment  in  the  room  with  the 
two  windows,  and  that  he  had  kissed  the  great- 
aunt  of  Mrs.  MacFarlane,  the  present  occupant, 
in  settlement  of  the  "lawin. "  John  Kidstoun, 
150 


KILSPINDIE 

the  village  wright  of  the  time,  being  a  fair 
judge  of  morals,  made  a  large  kist  when  he 
heard  the  Pretender  was  in  the  vicinity  into 
which  he  and  his  neighbours  put  their  valu- 
ables. This  they  buried  in  the  manse  garden 
till  he  and  his  needy  followers  had  passed  into 
the  next  parish. 

These  facts  were  not  written  in  any  history, 
but  they  were  on  the  mental  tablets  of  the 
school-master,  who  had  them  from  the  lips  of 
Kidstoun's  son.  In  the  cold,  dark  evenings  of 
winter,  when  there  was  anything  to  talk  about 
(as  a  rule  little  ser^'ed),  the  men  foregathered 
in  the  room  with  the  single  window.  It 
was  in  this  room  Francie  Dyack  fainted 
and  never  came  to ;  the  belief  w^as  that  this 
untoward  event  happened  because  they  gave  him 
a  drink  of  water  after  his  race  without  think- 
ing to  put  either  meal  or  whisky  in  it.  Francie 
had  been  visiting  his  sweetheart  in  the  Haugh 
at  the  back  of  the  Braes  on  halloween,  and  for 
a  near  cut  was  returning  through  the  plantain 
where  Granny  Ualap  hanged  herself.  On  near- 
ing  the  ominous  spot  a  human  skull  seemed  to 
kindle  into  awesome  vividness  among  the  bare 
151 


DOCTOR    CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

branches  of  the  tree  from  which  the  suicide's 
body  had  been  cut  down.  The  eyes  were 
glazed  and  motionless,  the  nose  a  corrupt  hole, 
and  the  mouth,  from  which  the  tongue  pro- 
truded, had  a  ghastly  grin.  Francie  was  heard 
singing  the  I2ist  Psalm  as  he  raged  down  the 
school  brae,  but  on  reaching  the  inn  he  had 
only  breath  left  to  mumble  out  what  is  now 
known  of  the  event  before  he  fainted.  Only 
William  Madden  and  Andrew  Frame  knew  the 
secret,  and  they  had  it  on  their  conscience  as 
a  crime  to  their  dying  day.  They  had  hol- 
lowed a  turnip,  made  a  frightsome  face  on  it, 
put  a  lighted  candle  inside,  and  hung  it  on 
Granny  Dalap's  tree  to  amuse  or  hasten  the  step 
—  as  might  happen  —  of  any  one  who  chanced 
to  pass  that  way.  Andrew  Frame  went  to  the 
antipodes  afterwards,  but  his  companion  settled 
down  soberly  at  home  —  to  drink.  It  was  Wil- 
liam Madden,  who  when  the  minister  checked 
him  for  being  under  the  influence  of  whisky  at 
eleven  o'clock  in  the  forenoon,  said,  "  Man,  if  ye 
tak'  it  early  ye'll  fin'  the  guid  o't  a'  day." 

The  rendezvous  of  the  young  people  of  Kil- 
spindie   was    Elsie    Craig's   well    at    Millend. 
152 


KILSPINDIE 

This  well  was  shaded  in  summer  by  an  ancient 
chestnut-tree,  whose  flower-spikes  were  un- 
equalled for  size  and  beauty  for  ten  miles  round, 
taking  the  candle-maker's  workshop  as  the 
centre  of  the  circumference.  This  precise  way 
of  stating  the  case  was  due  to  Matha  Fairley, 
the  Yorkhill  forester,  and  as  no  better  informed 
man  ever  contradicted  him  his  way  of  putting 
it  became  the  settled  belief.  The  water  in  Elsie 
Craig's  well  had  many  good  qualities,  but  it 
was  said  to  take  the  fullest  cleansing  virtue  out 
of  soap  in  its  application  to  baby  linen  and 
weaver's  aprons.  On  summer  evenings  village 
maidens  went  forth  to  draw  it.  The  well,  being 
deep,  cans  and  stoups  had  to  be  let  down  by 
a  rope  and  cleek,  and  as  strength  and  nerve 
were  required  for  this,  it  was  not  unnatural 
that  chivalrous  swains  should  be  by  to  help 
the  maidens  in  their  task.  The  half  of  the 
male  villagers  who  had  entered  the  fold  of 
matrimony  had  commenced  their  wooing  here; 
and,  as  might  be  expected  in  such  a  precarious 
world,  not  a  few  love-lights,  that  had  been 
kindled  under  the  chestnut-tree  had  been 
quenched  in  shame.  When  the  men-folk  mar- 
153 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

ried  they  said  good-bye  to  the  well,  and  met 
afterwards  at  the  Brig-end  or  at  Mrs.  Mac- 
Farlane's  change-house.  Some  of  the  older 
men,  whose  years  gave  them  confidence  of 
speech,  used  to  delight  in  telling  their  courting 
exploits  at  the  well.  Robin  Brough  had  fought 
the  merchant's  salesman  for  the  hand  of  Teeny 
Middlemas.  The  vanquished  salesman,  not 
feeling  equal  to  the  continuance  of  a  militant 
courtship,  sought  employment  in  the  Old  Vic- 
tualling Store  at  Galston,  leaving  the  prize  to 
the  victor.  After  this  Robin's  candle  frames 
were  kept  busy,  for  Teeny  was  what  was 
called  a  "dressy  buddy,"  and  on  first  days 
even  eclipsed  the  minister's  lady  herself.  In- 
deed the  confidence  of  being  better  dressed 
than  anybody  else  on  the  Sabbath  day  was 
said  to  give  her  a  feeling  of  inward  tranquillity 
that  religion  itself  was  powerless  to  bestow. 
Chronic  rheumatics,  however,  had  been  the 
instrument  in  the  hand  of  an  admonishing 
Providence  of  tempering  her  vanity,  and 
affording  her  husband  the  meditative  and 
conversational  leisure  he  now  enjoyed. 

Jean  Templeton,  a  shy  maiden,  thinking  the 
154 


KILSPINDIE 

lads  had  gone,  went  out  one  evening  to  draw 
water.  Her  stoup  was  slipping  from  her  hand, 
and  she  herself  might  have  gone  down  after 
it,  had  not  William  Caughie,  who  had  hidden 
behind  the  chestnut,  hopeful  of  seeing  Jean, 
caught  her  in  his  arms,  and  restored  her  equa- 
nimity. He  kissed  her  without  trouble,  so  he 
said,  though  her  explanation  that  she  was  use- 
less with  fright  was  reasonable.  It  was  known 
that  before  this  Jean  preferred  the  foreman 
bleacher,  but  the  marriage  took  place  on  the 
fifth  Friday  thereafter.  In  early  days  William 
used  to  tell  this  story  with  some  pride ;  ad- 
vancing years,  however,  had  taken  the  glamour 
out  of  it.  He  ceased  entirely  to  refer  to  the 
matter  when  he  took  to  the  wearing  of  horn 
specs  after  the  introduction  of  the  Reform 
Bill.  Though  generation  after  generation  of 
the  villagers  had  paused  for  a  time  at  this 
oasis,  and  amused  or  refreshed  themselves 
before  graduating  into  the  dual  state,  the  old 
well  was  still  surrounded  in  the  summer  gloam- 
ing, as  before,  by  the  young  of  both  sexes,  feel- 
ing after  the  fuller  life  —  the  well-spring  of  love 

being  as  inexhaustible  as  its  own  crystal  waters. 
155 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

When  Congalton  found  his  articles  on  Scot- 
tish rural  life  and  character  had  awakened 
public  interest,  his  old  instinct  of  knowing  how 
to  give  what  was  wanted  revived  under  the 
sense  that  the  field  from  which  he  could  draw 
was  wide  and  full.  His  pictures  were  cameos 
—  embracing  the  colour,  form,  and  atmosphere 
of  Scottish  scenery.  Deftly  thrown  forward  on 
this  picturesque,  natural  background  were  the 
characters,  actions,  and  thoughts  of  men  and 
women,  giving  human  interest  to  the  whole. 
Though  his  men  inclined  to  politics,  and  an 
occasional  dram,  and  his  women  to  gossip  and, 
at  times,  scandal,  they  were  on  the  whole  a 
religious  people.  Any  one  going  through  the 
village  street  at  nine  o'clock  on  a  Sunday 
morning  could  not  get  beyond  the  voice  of 
psalms  in  the  exercise  of  worship. 

Old  Jeames  Goudie,  who  lived  by  himself  in 
a  single  apartment  at  Millend,  represented  an 
earlier  time,  for  he  had  this  salutary  exercise 
every  morning.  Jeames  was  very  deaf,  and 
before  singing  always  "read  the  line."  He 
had  brought  up  a  large  family  of  sons,  who 
vexed  him  with  their  extravagant,  idle  habits. 
156 


KILSPINDIE 

He  used  to  complain  that  they  were  "brisk 
at  gaun  oot  at  nicht,  but  aye  lost  their  gate 
comin'  hame. "  Nancy  Beedam  once  heard  him 
say  —  "It  wud  have  been  mair  profitable  gin  I 
had  buried  the  lot  o'  ye  when  ye  were  young 
—  aye  spend-spending  and  never  dune."  This 
remark  had  been  made  under  provocation,  but 
Nancy  never  forgot  it,  they  had  all  gone  to 
the  kirkyard  before  him. 

While  making  free  with  contemporary  life  and 
character  Congalton  was  not  unmindful  to  draw 
on  senile  memories  for  customs  and  beliefs  that 
had  now  become  effete.  Oddities  in  the 
marriage,  baptismal,  and  burial  services  were  to 
his  liking.  Belief  in  the  supernatural,  even  in 
the  younger  generation,  was  not  }'et  entirely 
stamped  out.  Death  warnings  —  the  ticking  of 
a  watch  or  a  knock  at  the  bed-head  in  the 
sick-room  —  were  held  as  unerring  portents 
of  approaching  death.  The  wild  horse  with 
the  clanking  shoon  had  been  heard  on  the 
hillside  at  midnight  above  Mossfennan  by 
several  of  the  older  inhabitants  before  the 
plague  of  cholera  visited  the  village.  Davit 
Saunders,  the  Blacklaw  shepherd,  returning 
157 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

from  the  uplands  one  night  late  saw  Tammas 
Scougall  with  a  bundle  of  mole-traps  over  his 
shoulder.  Tammas  passed  silently,  and  made 
no  response  to  his  neighbour's  "  guid  e'en," 
but  remembering  afterwards  that  Tammas  had 
been  in  bed  ill  for  several  days,  Saunders  took 
to  his  heels  and  ran  home  in  fright.  Next 
morning  he  heard  that  the  mole-catcher  had 
passed  away  at  the  very  hour  he  encountered 
him  on  the  hillside.  Lexie  Findlater  had  seen 
a  whole  "cleckan"  of  fairies  one  moonlight 
night  "loupin'  the  ragweeds"  in  a  field  in  front 
of  the  farm  where  she  was  at  serv-ice.  Her 
cousin,  Nan  Pinkerton,  now  known  as  the 
"spae-wife  o'  the  Haugh, "  also  in  service  at 
an  adjoining  farm,  was  for  a  time  shadowed  by 
a  "brownie"  who  did  the  rougher  housework 
for  her  while  she  was  sleeping.  One  night — 
meaning  kindly — Nan  left  a  dish  of  sowens 
and  milk  by  the  fireside  for  the  considerate 
worker,  but  he  never  returned. 

With  these  and  similar  materials  of  fact  and 

folklore   available,    Congalton    had    little  need 

to  go  beyond  the  parish.     According  to  habit, 

his  study  table  was  littered  with  old  envelopes 

158 


KILSPINDIE 

embracing  scraps  of  scenery  done  on  the  spot, 
sketches  of  character,  superstitious  customs 
and  beliefs,  together  with  odd  sayings  and 
idioms  of  local  growth.  The  governess,  now 
in  full  sympathy  with  his  work,  and  in  pos- 
session of  his  secret,  thinking  his  manner  of 
proceeding  might  be  improved,  suggested  the 
classification  of  his  notes  by  the  aid  of  an 
index.  This  method  she  initiated  for  him,  but 
it  was  not  a  success.  In  theory  he  admitted 
it  was  correct  and  business-like,  but  it  led  to 
constraint  and  formality.  These  scraps  had 
their  own  individuality  of  suggestion,  recall- 
ing the  thought  or  inspiration  of  the  moment. 
While  the  governess's  business-like  system  com- 
mended itself  to  his  judgment,  it  led  him  by 
a  process  of  self-analysis  to  the  conclusion 
that  changes  either  in  his  habits  of  life  or  in 
his  methods  of  work  could  not  now  safely  be 
made. 


159 


CHAPTER   XIII 

MRS.    COWIE's    library 

When    Mrs.   Lonen    told    the  minister's  wife 

the  story  confided  to  her  by  Mrs.  Cowie,  neither 

of  these  good  ladies  suspected  that  the  farmer's 

wife  had  anything  but  the  purest  motives  behind 

it.      The    minister    also    entertained    the    same 

belief.      He    knew  that   Dr.  Congalton    by  the 

terms  of  his  will  intended,  and  desired,  that  his 

brother  should  form  a  matrimonial   connection 

with    the    Cowie    family.     It   seemed    therefore 

reasonable  on  their  part,  if  they  reciprocated  the 

doctor's  wish,  that  they  should  have  a  care  about 

the  proper  upbringing  of  Mr.  Congalton's  child. 

Mr.  Maconkey  considered  it  his  duty  to  relieve 

Mrs.  Cowie's  anxiety  on  this  important  question 

by  telling  her  the  truth  at  once.     Further,  he 

informed  her  that  he  had  explained  the  matter 
1 60 


MRS.   COWIE'S    LIBRARY 

fully  to  the  child's  father,  lest  the  story  in  its 
original  colouring  should  reach  him  and  prove 
detrimental  to  Miss  Hazlet's  good  name.  He 
ventured  to  express  his  conviction  that  she 
(Mrs.  Cowie)  would  be  pleased  to  know  that 
her  surmises,  while  perfectly  justifiable  from 
ocular  evidence.,  were,  in  point  of  fact,  ground- 
less. She  felt  it  was  clear,  from  the  minister's 
trustful  and  straightforward  explanation,  that 
he  did  not  suspect  her  of  having  any  ulterior 
motive.  Indeed,  he  had  excused  her  solicitude 
by  delicately  revealing  his  knowledge  of  the 
late  doctor's  desire  for  a  closer  relationship 
between  the  two  families.  Mrs.  Cowie  received 
these  assurances  with  mixed  feelings.  She  was 
comforted  by  being  misunderstood,  and  b}^  the 
minister's  confiding  sympathy.  It  is  true  she 
believed  from  what  she  herself  saw  that  there 
was  a  moral  screw  loose  somewhere  in  the 
governess's  character,  but  for  her  own  purposes 
the  wish  was  father  to  the  belief;  and,  as  her 
plans  were  somewhat  frustrated  by  the  disproof 
of  this  conviction,  there  was  little  satisfaction 
in    it.       After    that   aggravating  Sunday,  when 

her  husband    had    thoughtlessly   invited   young 
II  i6i 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

Mitchell  to  dinner  she  had  indulged  in  some 
plain  speaking.  Windy-yett,  whom  she  charac- 
terized, perhaps  fairly,  as  "a  ram-stam  man,"  had 
been  solidly  set  in  his  place.  He  had  feebly 
retaliated  by  saying  he  would  give  the  halter  to 
her,  as  the  doctor  had  left  a  "  kittle  powny  to 
lead."  She  dare  not,  however,  take  such  high 
ground  with  Bell.  She  explained  with  judicious 
delicacy  to  that  young  lady  the  full  meaning  of 
the  doctor's  will.  Bell  was  tickled  into  ques- 
tioning laughter  over  the  oddness  of  the 
situation. 

"  How  can  the  doctor  will  his  brother  to  me?  " 
she  inquired,  wondering  how  far  law  could  go. 
Mrs.  Cowie  conceded  that  such  a  thing  might 
not  be  quite  according  to  law,  but  that  where  a 
man  had  left  siller  with  stipulations,  there 
was  a  moral  obligation  on  the  parties  who 
accepted  of  it  to  respect  his  wishes.  Knowing 
the  exalted  and  improvident  sentiments  of  youth, 
she  did  not  reveal  to  Bell  the  questionable 
schemes  that  were  taking  shape  in  her  own 
mind.  She  laid  stress  rather  on  her  daughter's 
natural  attractions.  Her  arguments  were  spe- 
cious and  alluring.  Bell  was  young,  and  could 
162 


MRS.    COWIE'S   LIBRARY 

lose  nothing  by  waiting  a  year  or  two.  The 
happiest  time  of  a  young  woman's  Hfe  was  when 
men  were  competing  to  win  her.  She  had 
simply  to  wait  and  choose.  If  she  were  to 
be  asked  to  take  the  place  of  governess  or 
companion  to  Mr.  Congalton's  daughter,  and 
charmed  him  with  her  fine  manners  into  makinsf 
a  proposal  of  marriage,  it  would  be  like  a  play. 
Bell  laughed  responsively.  "  Think  too  of 
bringing  the  doctor's  siller  into  the  family,  just 
as  he  willed  it  —  I  declare  it's  like  what  ye  read 
o'  in  story  books." 

Bell  was  really  amused,  and  her  mother  left 
the  romance  to  germinate.  Day  by  day  the 
idea  of  becoming  a  heroine,  with  suitors  at  her 
feet  pleading  for  her  hand,  took  deeper  hold  of 
the  young  woman's  fancy.  She  saw,  from  un- 
mistakable attentions,  that  Willie  Mitchell  could 
be  had  any  day,  but  her  mother's  words  had 
stirred  her  imagination,  and  it  in  turn  begat  new 
desires.  She  was  young,  as  her  mother  had  said, 
and  wanted  a  fuller  experience.  The  more  she 
thought  of  it  the  more  the  hunger  for  conquests 
took  possession  of  her.  Under  this  access  of 
sentiment  she  concluded  that  to  marry  the  first 
163 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

man  who  offered  would  be  to  impoverish  her 
youth,  and  rob  hfe  of  its  due  meed  of  romance. 
A  maidenhood  of  prose,  with  but  a  single  stanza 
of  poetry  in  it,  was  out  of  the  question.  It 
would  be  such  fun  to  see  this  middle-aged 
suitor  on  his  knees  begging  her  to  become  his 
wife.  Though  their  fortunes,  as  her  mother  had 
explained,  were  somewhat  mixed  up,  she  would 
not  be  bound  to  marry  if  she  did  not  love  him. 
Besides,  would  not  Willie  Mitchell  think  all  the 
more  of  her  if  she  had  rejected  another  man  for 
his  sake? 

To  find  that  fortune  would  not  open  the  door 
for  Bell  as  governess  in  Mr.  Congalton's  house- 
hold, when  she  had  brought  her  daughter  to  this 
reasonable  and  compliant  frame  of  mind,  was 
deeply  disappointing  to  the  designing  mother. 
Bell  was  flighty,  and  might  suffer  change  of 
mood.  Still  Mrs.  Cowie  was  not  the  woman  to 
be  paralyzed  in  purpose  by  one  failure.  She 
had  a  large  and  hopeful  mind.  The  governess 
was  apparently  safe  in  the  meantime,  but  the 
light  of  Windy-yett  was  not  to  be  obscured 
under  a  bushel.  She  had  not  directed  her  hus- 
band to  buy  a  new  horse  for  nothing.  The 
164 


MRS.    COWIE'S   LIBRARY 

lighter  animal,  now  set  free  from  field  work,  was 
not  intended  to  wax  fat  in  the  stall  for  want  of 
exercise.  It  had  been  a  favourable  summer, 
and  there  was  promise  of  an  ample  harvest, 
moreover  the  interest  of  Bell's  "tocher"  was  a 
substantial  reality.  The  merchant  experienced 
the  opportuneness  of  this  fact  at  a  time  of  year 
when  the  tide  of  credit  was  at  its  lowest  ebb. 
At  least  twice  a  week  they  drove  to  his  door  to 
make  purchases,  and  while  they  showed  the 
horse's  paces,  and  Bell's  skill  in  handling  whip 
and  reins  on  their  way  to  the  village,  they  in- 
variably took  the  brae  opposite  Broomfields 
leisurely  on  their  return.  Mr.  Congalton  once, 
catching  the  maternal  eye,  bowed  to  them  from 
his  study  window  as  they  passed. 

"Smile,  Bell,"  whispered  Mrs.  Cowie,  nudging 
her  daughter  under  the  rug.  "  Don't  ye  see  the 
gentleman  bowing  to  ye  ?  "  The  defect  about 
Bell  Cowie's  face,  in  her  mother's  eyes,  was  that 
it  did  not  wear  a  perennial  smile.  It  was  a 
fresh,  plump,  oval  face,  with  hazel-grey  eyes. 
In  repose  the  chin  was  a  trifle  heavy,  but  the 
heaviness  was  lightened  when  she  showed  her 
sound  white  teeth  and  smiled. 
165 


DOCTOR    CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

Bell  bowed  back  gracefully  and  obeyed  the 
motherly  injunction. 

"  Aye  keep  smiling."  Mrs.  Cowie  had  been 
encouraging  the  use  of  this  weapon  of  late. 
"  No  man  can  resist  ye  if  ye  show  him  thae 
bonny  white  teeth,  and  that  blyth  humoursome 
curl  aboot  the  een.  That  noo  —  "  for  Bell  was 
giving  fair  illustration  of  the  expression  of 
countenance  her  mother  wished  her  to  w^ear. 

During  the  inactive  period,  when  the  farmer 
looks  to  the  sun  and  moon  and  the  genial  airs  of 
heaven  to  bring  to  golden  fruition  the  work  that 
he  has  initiated  by  ploughing  and  sowing,  Mrs. 
Cowie  and  her  daughter  had  a  gay  time  driving 
hither  and  thither,  paying  visits  and  making 
purchases.  Broomfields  somehow  always  lay  on 
their  route  in  going  or  returning.  Mrs.  Cowie's 
purposes  were  persevering  and  hopeful.  There 
was  no  other  person  on  the  parochial  horizon  so 
likely  to  interest  this  "widow  man"  as  Bell. 

One  day  at  Alec  Brodie's  corner  they  met  the 
object  of  their  solicitude  returning  with  his  gun. 
He  lifted  his  hat  politely  and  made  to  pass,  but 
Bell  was  ordered  to  draw  rein  while  the  mother 
took  speech  in  hand.  They  were  going  (it  was 
i66 


MRS.   COWIE'S   LIBRARY 

the  decision  of  the  moment)  on  the  following 
day  to  the  rose-show  at  Kilkenzie,  and  she  would 
be  pleased  if  he  would  allow  his  daughter  to 
accompany  them.  As  her  husband  was  also 
going,  she  was  sorry  there  was  not  room  in  the 
gig  for  the  governess,  but  Bell  was  "  mortal  fond 
o'  little  anes,  and  would  take  real  guid  care  o' 
her."  Bell  blushed  and  smiled  lightly  at  her 
mother's  audacity,  and  looked  none  the  worse  for 
it.  She  was  not  in  love  with  the  man,  and  could 
afford  to  practise  the  art  by  which  her  mother 
made  her  believe  she  could  fascinate  men.  Was 
it  possible  this  poor  middle-aged  gentleman 
should  yet  be  brought  to  her  feet  ?  Bell  won- 
dered if  the  slight  pause  which  ensued  was  the 
result  of  embarrassed  admiration.  On  the  other 
part  Congalton  was  amused  by  the  efforts  of 
this  crystalline  diplomat  to  encompass  a  literal 
fulfilment  of  his  brother's  wishes. 

"  It  is  very  good  of  you,"  he  said,  "  but  I  am 
afraid  I  must  ask  you  to  excuse  her  to-morrow. 
Some  other  time  when  there  is  room  for  both  I 
am  sure  it  will  be  a  pleasure  for  them  to  drive 
out  with  you." 

Mrs.  Cowie,  with  her  own  private  purposes  in 
167 


DOCTOR    CONGALTON'S    LEGACY 

mind,  did  not  quite  relish  the  concluding  part 
of  his  reply,  but  she  spoke  encouragingly  to  her 
daughter. 

"  Bell,"  she  said,  as  they  turned  into  the  parish 
road,  "  I'm  thinking  the  doctor  had  some  skill  o' 
his  ain  flesh  and  bluid  when  he  made  that  will ; 
did  ye  no  see,  when  Mr.  Congaltonpairted  wi'  us, 
how  his  een  settled  on  your  face  as  he  lifted 
his  hat?  " 

Two    days    later  Congalton  received  a  letter 

perfumed   to   obtrusiveness.      It  was  written  in 

Mrs.  Cowie's  name,  but  the  composition  and  the 

hand  were  Bell's.    She  reverted  to  their  previous 

meeting,    and    expressed    regret   that    she    had 

omitted    to    ask    him    to    come    over    and    see 

the  library  she  had  recently  purchased  for  her 

daughter  at  the  displenishing  sale  of  a  man  who 

was    book-learned    and    a    great    scholar.      If 

Thursday  afternoon  would  suit  she  would  take 

it    as    a    great    kindness  to    have    his  valuable 

opinion  of  her  purchase.     These  unconventional 

manoeuvres   were  interesting.      The   little   rural 

comedy  was  developing.   Why  should  he  not  go? 

He  good-naturedly  returned  a  verbal  message  by 

the  bearer  of  the  letter  that  he  would   go  along 
i68 


MRS.   COWIE'S   LIBRARY 

on  the  day  named  and  look  at  the  books  with 
pleasure.  This,  then,  was  his  vulnerable  point. 
Mrs.  Cowie  had  secretly  cherished  this  belief 
when  she  went  to  the  roup  —  her  purchase  had 
not  been  money  thrown  away,  as  her  husband 
thought.  If  the  books  brought  him  to  Windy- 
yett  it  would  not  be  her  own  fault,  or  Bell's,  if 
he  did  not  often  return.  The  books  certainly 
brought  him,  and  having  a  gentlemanly  sense  of 
humour,  they  gratified  it;  but  the  inspection  was 
also  instructive,  in  the  sense  that  it  revealed  the 
contents  of  an  educated  Scottish  farmer's  book- 
case of  the  period.  There  were  twelve  volumes  of 
the  Agricultural  Magazine,  Baxter's  Sainfs  Rest, 
Sermons  by  the  Rev.  Andrew  Fairservice,  The 
Confessioji  of  Faith,  Tainsh  on  the  Fonr  Gospels, 
The  Crook  in  the  Lot,  the  first  series  of  Tait's 
Edinburgh  Magazine,  several  text-books  in 
medicine,  and,  beside  the  Smiddy-yard  treasures, 
all  Bell's  school  prizes  were  arrayed  with  purpose- 
ful intent.  Mrs.  Cowie  watched  her  visitor's  face 
with  absorbing  eyes.  There  could  be  no  literary 
attraction  equal  to  this  in  the  parish. 

"  Well,"   she  inquired   eagerly,   after   he   had 
taken     down    volume     after    volume    of     such 
169 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

tomes  as  appealed  to  his  fancy,  and  examined 
them. 

"  A  sohd,  and,  to  me  at  least,  an  uncommon 
collection  of  books."  In  truth  he  could  say 
no  less. 

Mrs.  Cowie  was  charmed.  Could  there  be 
any  fuller  or  fairer  evidence  of  her  own  sagac- 
ity? but  her  interest  became  more  acute  as  he 
took  out  Bell's  prizes,  one  after  the  other,  and 
scanned  the  inside  for  the  subjects  that  had 
exercised  her  mind  in  competing  for  them.  She 
was  trying  to  follow  his  thoughts  through  the 
advancing  stages  of  wonderment  as  to  how  a 
farmer's  daughter  had  reached  this  perfection 
of  education  ;  then,  as  if  to  explain,  she  became 
articulate.  "  I  declare  it  taks  a  lash  o'  siller 
to  make  a  leddy  noo-a-days."  Bell  blushed 
honestly,  and  begged  her  mother  not  to  trouble 
Mr.  Congalton  with  such  needless  details.  He 
was  served  with  tea  in  "  quality  "  fashion  before 
he  left. 

"  Your  brother,  the  doctor,  was  no  tea-hand," 

Mrs.  Cowie  explained,  "  he  was  fond  o'  a  gless 

o'  toddy  wi'  the  guidman  when  he  stepped  owre 

after  the  day's  visiting  was  dune.     He  used  to 

170 


MRS.    COWIE'S    LIBRARY 

tak'  Bell  on  his  knee  when  she  was  a  wee  thing, 
and  got  her  to  put  a  single  piece  o'  loaf  sugar  in 
his  first  tumbler  before  she  gaed  to  bed.  He 
was  that  humoursome,  he  would  say  that  the 
wee  bit  fingers  gave  the  toddy  a  fine  flavour. 
Na,  are  you  sure  you  would  prefer  tea,  the 
sperits  are  quite  handy?"  Mrs.  Cowie  always 
thought  a  travelled  man  would  like  spirits  and 
water  on  a  hot  day.  Congalton  told  them 
affably  how  he  had  spent  days  in  the  saddle 
under  a  broiling  sun,  his  only  refreshment  being 
cold  tea  without  cream  or  sugar. 

"  Surce  the  day  !  " 

Mrs.  Cowie  concluded  it  would  be  a  "  gey 
wersh  drink."  Bell  handed  round  the  cakes, 
and  told  him  with  a  captivating  glance  how  she 
had  heard  he  had  written  a  book  about  the 
wars.  A  book  by  one  who  had  actually  seen 
a  battle  must  be  really  delightful.  "  Oh  my  !  " 
she  would  like  to  read  such  a  book !  Before  he 
was  aware  Congalton  had  promised  to  send 
her  a  copy.  Bell  was  radiant  with  thanks  and 
smiles.  Had  the  love  philtre  already  begun  to 
work?  What  a  fine  gracious  and  chivalrous 
manner  he  had,  and  how  different  from  the  self- 
171 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

conscious  awkwardness  of  rustic  swains !  She 
was  afraid  when  he  came  to  propose  she  might 
find  herself  in  love  with  him  after  all.  Bell 
sighed  softly  behind  her  newly-ringed  hand, 
thinking  of  poor  Willie   Mitchell. 

Before  leaving  Mrs.  Cowie  informed  her 
visitor  that  he  wouldn't  find  many  books  in 
Kilspindie.  "  The  country  folks  are  but  poor 
readers,"  she  said,  "  they  never  buy  books.  I 
may  say  this  library  of  Bell's  is  the  only  one 
in  the  neighbourhood;  and  if  there  is  onything 
in  it  that  would  be  of  use  to  you  ye're  welcome 
to  the  use  o't." 

Returning  home   by  the  green   lanes   in  the 

quiet  of  that  early  autumn  gloaming,  Congalton 

came  to  see  that  the  matter  was  going  just  a 

trifle  beyond  the  verge   of  legitimate    comedy, 

and  resolved  to  visit  Mr.  Sibbald  next  day  at  his 

place  of  business    in    the    county   town.      Two 

days  later,  while  Richard  Cowie  and  the  "  orra 

man "    were    at   the    moss    loading   peats,   they 

heard    the    postman's  whistle,   and    on    looking 

up  Cowie  saw  that    functionary  at   the    march 

gate  on  the  moorland  road  making  gestures. 

"  It's  a  letter,"  he  remarked,  straightening  his 
172 


MRS.    COWIE'S   LIBRARY 

back  and  shading  his  eyes  with  a  grimy  hand, 
"  some  mair  o'  that  patent  manure  dirt.  It'll 
be  addressed  to  the  mistress  like  enough,  for  she 
likes  to  study  thae  things.  What  for  does  the 
craitur  no'  tak'  it  on  to  the  hoose?  "  The  lad  at 
the  march  gate,  however,  continued  to  whistle 
and  gesticulate  with  something  in  his  right  hand, 
and  the  orra  man  was  ordered  to  run  over  and 
see  what  it  was.  It  was  a  letter  addressed,  not 
to  Mrs.  Cowie,  but  to  her  husband,  and  bore 
the  imprint  of  Sibbald  and  Campbell,  writers. 
Cowie  directed  the  orra  man  to  go  on  loading 
the  peats  while  he  turned  his  back  to  the  sun 
and  broke  the  seal.  It  was  a  long  letter  of  four 
pages,  written  in  Mr.  Sibbald's  own  cramped 
hand.  The  farmer's  thirst  for  the  secret  the 
letter  contained  was  out  of  all  proportion  to 
his  power  of  assuaging  it.  He  had  borne  at 
least  three-quarters  of  the  labour  involved  in 
loading  a  cart  of  peats  without  turning  a  hair; 
now  his  back  was  clammy,  and  big  drops  of 
yellow  perspiration  swam  from  side  to  side  of  his 
ample  chin  as  his  head  moved  to  various  angles 
of  acquisitiveness,  yet  he  had  not  mastered  the 
first  page.     It  was  something,  he  knew,  about 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

Dr.  Congalton's  legacy  —  but  what?  He  had 
already  said  to  himself,  "  It  would  have  been  a 
sicht  better  they  had  never  heard  o'  ony  sic 
will."  What  good  was  it  going  to  do  them? 
"  It  had  put  Bell  (meaning  'his  wife)  on  her  high 
horse,  and  was  carrying  her  clean  aff  at  the  head 
wi'  her  leebrary  o'  books,  her  veesiting  cairds, 
and  what  not  —  it  was  perfect  vexatious."  He 
went  over  to  the  logan  stone,  leant  his  back 
against  the  shady  side,  and  held  his  letter  so 
that  angular  rays  of  the  westering  sun  fell  softly 
athwart  the  jerky  lines  of  the  perplexing  enigma. 
After  an  hour's  hard  reading  he  formed  some 
hazy  notion  of  its  purport.  On  the  whole  it 
gave  him  a  feeling  of  relief.  The  orra  man, 
having  waited  for  some  time  on  his  master,  won- 
dering what  was  the  good  of  education  (he  was 
no  scholar  himself)  if  it  took  one  man  so  long 
to  find  out  another  man's  meaning  when  he  put 
it  in  black  and  white.  Cowie,  having  superin- 
tended the  progress  of  the  cart  through  the  ruts 
and  quags  of  the  moss,  left  it  safely  on  the  solid 
moor  road  and  took  a  near  cut  home. 

Bell  was  reading  Mr.  Congalton's  book  aloud 
to  her  mother,  who  sat  near  her  darning  stock- 
174 


MRS.    COWIE'S   LIBRARY 

ings  with  a  contemplative  smile.  The  farmer 
looked  so  heated  and  mysterious  that  his  wife 
left  her  stockings,  followed  him  "  ben  the  house," 
and  inquired  if  it  was  another  "  turno'  the  water- 
brash." 

"  Na,  na,"  he  said,  "  it's  news  —  news  frae  Mr. 
Sibbald,"  and  he  handed  her  the  letter.  Mrs. 
Cowie  closed  the  door  and  snibbed  it.  Then 
they  sat  down  side  by  side  on  the  settle  and 
endeavoured  to  extract  the  meaning  from  this 
camstrary  document. 

"  I'll  be  danged,"  said  Cowie,  after  suffering 
numerous  contradictions,  not  too  poHtely  ex- 
pressed, over  his  diagnosis  of  words.  This 
imprecation  betokened  a  condition  of  mind  not 
habitual. 

"  Why  not  send  for  Bell ;  what  is  the  use  of 
her  boarding  schule  edication  if  we  canna  get 
the  use  o't  at  a  pinch?  "  Mrs.  Cowie  was  not  a 
woman  to  waste  words  when  her  husband  talked 
nonsense.  A  momentary  look  over  her  specs, 
and  a  contraction  of  the  corners  of  her  light  grey 
eyes,  showed  him  he  was  interfering  in  a  matter 
that  required  delicate  handling. 

Meantime  Mrs.  Cowie  patiently  plodded  for- 
175 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

ward  and  began  to  get  under  the  wing  of  the 
lawyer's  meaning.  The  letter  was  couched  in 
formal  and  carefully  studied  terms.  Its  gen- 
eral drift  was  that  Dr.  Congalton's  trustees  had 
recently  met,  and  taken  into  consideration  the 
hampering  clause  in  the  will  which  practically 
stood  in  the  way  of  Miss  Cowie  marrying  unless 
she  effected  a  union  with  Mr.  Congalton,  who 
was  not  a  marrying  man.  They  thought  this 
was  rather  hard  on  a  young  lady  of  undoubted 
natural  attractions,  more  particularly  as  his 
co-trustees  were  aware  through  him  (Mr.  Sib- 
bald)  that  the  testator's  desire  was  to  show  his 
regard  for  the  family  by  making  some  provision 
for  the  daughter.  If  Miss  Cowie  and  her  parents 
desired  it,  with  the  consent  of  parties,  they  would 
be  prepared  to  modify  the  will,  so  as  to  allow 
her  the  monetary  benefit  intended,  without 
binding  the  principal  legatees  to  the  unusual 
condition  at  present  attaching  to  it.  The  re- 
quest, however,  should  come  from  the  young 
lady  herself  in  writing  if  her  parents  approved. 
Cowie,  having  abandoned  all  attempts  at  a 
literal  verbal  rendering,  took  refuge  in  a  gen- 
eral understanding  of  the  letter,  and  sat  waiting 
176 


MRS.   COWIE'S   LIBRARY 

patiently  with  a  fairly  contented  expression  of 
countenance.  He  was  satisfied  that  Bell  would 
have  a  clear  third  without  any  complication  or 
contingency.  He  watched  keenly  for  the  dawn 
of  an  acquiescent  look  in  his  wife's  eyes  as  she 
went  back  again  and  again  to  words  and  phrases 
whose  meaning  required  confirmation.  Indeed 
she  could  not  but  think  there  was  some  legal 
quirk  at  the  bottom  of  this  remarkable  letter. 
Matters  to  her  mind  seemed  prospering  well 
enough  as  they  were.  Congalton  had  already 
found  his  way  to  the  farm ;  he  had  presented 
Bell  with  his  book ;  between  her  and  the  library 
there  was  every  human  probability  of  being  yet 
able  to  realize  her  own  and  the  late  doctor's 
wishes;  but,  in  the  most  pessimistic  view,  should 
he  marry  some  one  else,  or  get  killed  in  the 
wars,  there  was  always  a  chance  of  more  money 
coming  to  Bell  than  if  she  signed  her  rights 
away. 

"  Dinna  ye  think,  na,  it's  a  gey  fair  offer?" 
inquired  the  husband,  with  soft  eyes  fixed 
hopefully  on  the  inscrutable  face. 

"  No,"  she  exclaimed  with  decision,  "  I  think 

it's  nane  a  fair  offer.     There's  a  meaning  in  that 
12  177 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

letter  that  neither  you  nor  me  understands." 
She  bounced  from  her  seat.  "  See,  here's  paper 
and  ink  for  ye,"  she  said  ;  "  just  you  sit  doon  and 
answer  it  when  ye're  i'  the  tid,  and  tell  the  wily 
lawyer  that  we'll  e'en  bide  by  the  Doctor's 
will." 


178 


CHAPTER   XIV 

LOVE-iMAKING 

Some  days  after  Richard  Cowie  had  sent  his 
reply  to  Mr.  Sibbald,  Willie  Mitchell,  desiring 
to  test  the  reasonableness  of  his  hopes  before 
commencing  the  harvest,  came  home  early  from 
Kilburnie  fair,  where  he  had  left  Cowie  and  his 
wife.  He  repaired  to  Windy-yett,  and  found 
Bell  picking  fruit  in  the  garden  all  alone.  He 
had  thought  so  intensely  on  his  journey  over, 
and  had  made  so  many  finely-worded  proposals 
to  the  encouraging  air,  that  on  arriving  he  was 
mentally  exhausted  and  confused.  This  big, 
strong-limbed  man  was  afraid,  from  Mrs.  Cowie's 
manner  on  several  occasions,  but  particularly 
during  the  recent  visit  when  he  had  the  felicity 
of  dining  with  the  family,  that  she  was  not  quite 
•favourable  to  his  honest  intentions.  Bell,  how- 
ever, had  at  least  not  discouraged  him,  and  it 
179 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

was  his  wish  to  see  her  alone  and  have  a  quiet 
hour  with  her  without  interruption  before  her 
parents  returned.  Bell's  eyes  sparkled,  and  her 
teeth  shone  as  she  saw  the  weather-bronzed 
"  wooer  "  stalking  down  the  gravelled  path,  be- 
tween the  high  box-wood  borders;  but  when 
she  saw  the  unnatural  gravity  of  the  youthful 
face,  and  the  pallor  of  suppressed  feeling  about 
the  lines  of  the  mouth,  she  felt  inclined  to  run 
away.  Willie  Mitchell,  as  a  bantering  beau, 
frisking  suggestively,  but  with  unformed  inten- 
tions, on  the  no-man's  land  between  fun  and 
sentiment,  was  delightful.  But  Willie  Mitchell 
with  a  mind  made  up  and  a  body  charged  to 
the  lips  with  pent-up  passion  that  might  ex- 
plode at  any  moment,  while  there  was  no  one 
near  to  encourage  by-play,  made  her  wish  she 
had  accompanied  her  parents  to  the  fair. 

"  You  are  home  soon,"  she  said,  throwing  the 
ribbons  of  her  sun-bonnet  behind  her  back  that 
she  might  show  the  dainty  earrings  her  mother 
had  purchased  in  anticipation  of  the  first  money 
product  of  the  legacy.  Then  she  remembered 
that  she  did  not  look  her  best  when  her  face  was 

serious  —  and  smiled. 

i8o 


LOVE-MAKING 

"  Ay,  I'm  home  soon,"  he  said,  being  in  no 
mood  to  waste  words. 

"  Were  there  many  at  the  fair  ?"  she  inquired, 
stooping  over  her  work. 

"  Oh,  a  heap  o'  folk  as  usual  —  you're  unco' 
busy  the  day." 

"  No  that  busy." 

"Ye'll  get  sunstroke,  Bell;  come  awa'  into 
the  summer-house  here,  and  rest  ye." 

"  I'll  run  up  to  the  hoose  first  wi' the  berries," 
she  cried,  laughing,  and  tripped  off  through  the 
garden  gate  with  the  fruit.  What  Bell  wanted 
was  time  to  think.  Was  this  her  first  conquest  ? 
Was  it  not  her  mother's  teaching  that  a  young 
woman  of  her  attractions  should  have  many 
such  before  she  made  choice  ?  Nanny  Suther- 
land made  no  secret  of  the  fact  that  she  had 
three —  and  she  was  plain.  Why  should  she  think 
of  Nanny  Sutherland  just  then?  Nannie  had 
turned  real  religious  before  her  marriage.  At 
the  "  kirkin'  "  she  had  left  a  plum-pudding  in 
the  pot  to  simmer,  and  all  the  way  to  the  kirk 
she  had  it  on  her  mind  for  fear  the  water  should 
boil  in;  but,  as  she  said,  the  minister's  text  was 
"  richt  heartnin  "  "  Cast  thy  burden  on  the  Lord." 
i8i 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

"  Weel,  I  just  did  that,  and  let  the  pudding  tak' 
its  chance."  Bell  laughed  at  the  thought  of  thus 
relieving  herself  of  Willie  Mitchell,  and  her 
white  teeth  gleamed  in  her  own  looking-glass. 
At  the  moment  she  was  up  in  her  little  bedroom 
adjusting  and  pinning  up  her  refractory  back 
hair.  She  was  not  quite  convinced  that  Nanny's 
text  applied  to  her  present  circumstances.  If 
burden  there  were,  she  inclined  to  take  it  on  her 
own  plump  shoulders.  Bell  tried  her  smile  in 
varying  degrees  of  broadness  until,  becoming 
conscious  of  the  absurdity  of  her  conduct,  she 
laughed  at  her  own  reflection  —  that,  she  con- 
cluded, —  mockingly,  the  fresh,  red  lips  just 
revealing  her  white  teeth  —  will  be  enough  for 
Willie  Mitchell.  But  what  was  there  to  laugh 
at?  Who  could  dare  to  laugh  or  smile  either 
at  a  man  with  a  tragic  face  like  yon  ?  It  was 
enough  to  bring  tears  to  one's  eyes.  Then  she 
laughed  once  more  at  the  thought  of  tears  for 
a  young  and  hale  man  such  as  she  had  left  in 
the  summer-house.  "Ay,"  she  said,  coming 
within  hail,  "  and  ye  didna  like  the  fair." 
"  Oh,  I  liket  the  fair  weel  enough." 

"  And  why  did  ye  hurry  awa'  frae't  ?  " 
182 


LOVE-MAKING 

"Because  —  because,  Bell,  to  tell  ye  the 
honest  truth,  I  liket  something  else  far  better. 
Bell,  will  ye  come  and  sit  doon  ?  "  She  started 
back  from  his  strong  arm,  her  left  hand  instinc- 
tively feeling  if  the  hairpins  were  likely  to 
hold. 

"No,  I'll  no  sit  doon." 

"Are  ye  afraid?  " 

"Yes;  I  dinna  like  the  look  o'  ye."  Then 
with  quick  prudential  qualification  she  added, 
"  Ye  look  so  serious." 

"  So  I  am  serious,  Bell  —  desperate  serious. 
Come,  I  want  to  speak  to  ye." 

"But  I  dinna  like  serious  talk  at  this  time 
o'  day."  She  flung  her  arm  round  the  gnarled 
oak  pole  of  the  summer-house  and  tapped  the 
gravel  with  the  point  of  her  outstretched  foot. 
At  this  moment  remembering  her  countenance 
had  fallen,  she  cleared  up  and  added,  "  When 
folk  are  serious,  they  whiles  say  disagreeable 
things ;  and  if  you  say  disagreeable  things  I'll 
run  away." 

"  But  ye  have  led  me  to  ettle  that  what  I  am 
going  to  say  will  no'  be  distastefu'  to  ye." 

"  Have  I  ?     Then  I  would  like  to  hear  it." 
183 


DOCTOR    CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

Her  heart  gave  a  great  leap.  What  was  this 
she  had  said?  Had  she  actually  invited  the 
man  to  make  a  proposal  ?  Deliberately  she  did 
not  mean  it,  and,  indeed,  was  sorry  for  it  after- 
wards ;  but  for  the  moment  she  could  not  resist 
the  temptation  of  being  sure  of  one  conquest. 

"  I  want  ye  to  marry  me." 

Bell  laughed  an  almost  hysterical  laugh. 
Here  it  was  at  last  —  her  first  offer.  Her  head 
was  in  a  whirl,  and  she  had  to  cling  to  the  hard- 
hearted oak  pole  for  lack  of  kindlier  support. 
This  was  the  beginning  of  her  victories.  But 
what  about  the  wan  face  before  her  ?  His 
whole  nervous  energy  was  spent  in  words  and 
feelings.  She  did  not  run  away,  yet  he  had  not 
strength  enough  left  to  embrace  her.  He  had 
shot  for  the  prize  —  had  he  hit  or  missed  the 
mark? 

"  I'm  awfu'  serious,"  he  said.  They  were 
both  standing  Hmp,  and  needing  mutual  succour 
at  the  summer-house  door. 

"  I  see  that,"  she  replied,  contemplating  the 

toe  of  her  light  shoe;   "but  I'm  owre  young." 

In  her  heart  she  was  dearly  fond  of  the  young 

man,  but   the    momentary   weakness   which  he 

184 


LOVE-MAKING 

had  failed  to  take  advantage  of  was  past.  She 
could  not  throw  herself  away  to  the  first  bidder, 
nor  could  she  explain  that  when  other  offers 
came  she  might  place  him  on  the  short  leet. 

"  You're  no'  that  young,"  he  said. 

"  Is  it  fair  to  remind  me  of  advancing  years  ?  " 
If  she  had  not  been  at  the  Edinburgh  boarding- 
school  she  would  not  have  answered  so  pertly. 

"I  didna  mean  that,  Bell;  but  you  are  auld 
enough  to  be  my  wife.  We  have  grown  up  the- 
gether  in  a  sense." 

"  That's  true  ;   but  I'm  —  I'm  barely  twenty." 

"  Is't  the  siller,  Bell  —  Dr.  Congalton's  siller 
that  has  ta'en  ye  frae  me?  If  so  I  wish  to  God 
ye  had  never  heard  tell  o't,  for  I  have  enough 
wi'  honest  farming  to  do  our  turn." 

Bell  paused  ;  the  siller  truly  liad  made  little 
difference  to  her,  but  she  felt  it  had  stirred  her 
mother's  desires  to  set  the  family  on  a  higher 
level. 

"  No,  Willie,"  she  said  kindly,  "  it's  no'  the 
siller  I'm  minding  about —  it  makes  no  odds  in 
my  feelings  to  you  ;  but  my  mother  canna  spare 
me.  Na,  I  wouldna  advise  ye  to  ask  her."  Bell 
did  not  wish  to  lose  him  absolutely. 
185 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

"  Tell  me  this,"  he  implored,  "  has  onybody 
else  speired  ye?  " 

"Oh,  no."  Her  vanity  returned:  she  hoped 
in  her  heart  the  next  one  who  came  would  not 
ask  this  embarrassing  question.  "  No  one  has 
ever  asked  me." 

"  Then  ye  winna  say  no  to  me.  Bell?" 

"  I  canna  say  yes  —  at  present  —  I  would 
need  time." 

"What  time?"  he  inquired  eagerly  —  "a 
month?" 

"  No,  no  —  a  year,"  she  stammered,  "  at —  at 
—  least." 

"  Let  it  be  a  year,  then,"  he  said  with  resigna- 
tion.    "  I'll  wait." 

She  was  beginning  to  feel  the  seriousness  of 
the  situation,  and  was  pondering  in  her  mind 
whether  she  had  done  right  in  being  so  definite, 
when  her  lover,  awaking  to  a  sense  of  what  was 
appropriate,  seized  her  unresisting  hand,  drew 
her  to  him  inside  the  summer-house,  and  kissed 
her  lips.  At  the  moment  she  could  have  re- 
turned the  kiss  warmly,  and  said,  "  No,  not  a  year 
hence,  but  now."  In  consonance  with  the  con- 
sistency of  her  sex,  however,  she  struggled  from 


LOVE-MAKING 

his  embrace.  The  hairpins  had  held  nobly. 
This  was  but  one  —  surely  there  would  be  other 
triumphs.  Were  not  these,  according  to  her 
education,  the  heritage  of  well-favoured  maiden- 
hood? 

"  Is  it  an  engagement  ?  "  he  inquired,  con- 
templating her  flushed  face,  three  yards  from 
him  now. 

"  No,  no  !  "  she  cried,  "  no  engagement  on 
either  side.  Ask  me  again  in  a  year,  but  till 
then  we  are  both  free." 

When  Richard  Cowie  and  his  wife  returned 
from  the  fair  Bell  was  busy  in  the  kitchen,  but 
her  heightened  colour  and  glittering  eyes  were 
attributed  to  the  heat  of  the  jam-pan.  Willie 
Mitchell  had  been  prudently  instructed  to  keep 
out  of  the  way,  and  show  no  sign,  or  she,  Bell, 
would  not  be  answerable  for  the  consequences. 
Other  proposals  might  come,  or,  if  not,  her 
mother's  mind  might  alter  —  a  year  was  a  long 
time. 

On  the  Wednesday  following  there  was  to  be 
a  flower-show  at  Kilmory,  and  Mrs.  Cowie  re- 
solved to  be  there.     She  sent  her  compliments 

to  Mr.  Congalton  —  would  he  allow  his  little  girl 
187 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

and  the  governess  to  accompany  her  daughter 
and  herself  to  the  show?  She  knew  that  an 
invitation  including  both  would  be  more  likely 
to  find  acceptance.  It  would  also  have  the  look 
of  greater  disinterestedness,  while  she  and  Bell 
could  take  stock  of  this  much-talked-of  young 
person,  and,  if  necessary,  by  their  manner  at 
least  set  her  in  her  place.  To  Mrs.  Cowie's 
surprise  Eva  was  allowed  to  accompany  her, 
but  the  governess  was  not.  Was  it  a  retribu- 
tive circumstance  in  the  irony  of  events  that 
this  masterful  scheming  spirit  was  unconsciously 
instrumental  in  taking  the  child  out  of  the  way 
while  the  father  made  a  declaration  of  love,  and 
a  proposal  of  marriage  to  the  lady  whom  she 
deliberately  designed  to  humble?  The  world 
is  too  good  for  such  coincidences  to  occur 
often,  though  when  we  do  find  a  Haman  suf- 
fering mortal  defeat  on  his  own  gallows,  it 
would  be  contrary  to  our  wicked  nature  to  be 
deeply  sorry  for  him. 

Congalton's  later  life  had  been  a  lonely  and 
self-reliant  one.  The  deeper  springs  of  senti- 
ment seemed  dried  up,  or,  if  they  existed,  were 
sealed.     For  many  years  solitude  had  been  his 


LOVE-MAKING 

choice,  and  when  drawn  into  society  his  asso- 
ciates were  principally  men.  The  few  women 
he  had  met  remained  entirely  outside  of  his 
life  —  they  did  not  awaken  affection.  He  had 
frequently  smiled  at  his  brother's  Quixotic  wish 
to  will  him  away  in  marriage  to  a  farmer's 
daughter.  What  thought  had  he  of  marriage? 
Yet  under  his  apparently  frigid  manner  there 
was,  unknown  to  himself,  a  spring  of  latent 
passion  ready  to  well  forth  in  response  to  the 
appropriate  touch.  Since  confiding  his  literary 
secret  to  the  governess,  that  little  person  had 
been  an  object  of  enlarging  interest  to  him. 
He  had  created  occasions,  contrary  to  his 
nature,  of  being  in  her  society.  She  was  prac- 
tical, helpful,  and  never  by  any  means  obtrusive. 
Her  presence  brought  light  and  warmth  into 
his  rather  sunless  life;  her  necessary  absence 
awoke  the  poetry  of  reminiscence.  In  fact, 
she  conquered  him  without  scheme  or  intention 
as  she  had  conquered  and  won  Mistress  Izet 
and  Isaac  Kilgour.  The  result  was  not  of  his 
seeking,  nor  of  hers.  You  ask  what  draws  the 
bee  to  the  flower,  or  the  swallow  to  the  South  — 

what  answer  do  you  get?     Nature  is  a  subtle 
1S9 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

worker,  and  will  not  be  questioned.  It  was 
not  the  outward  beauty  of  face  or  elegance  of 
form,  though  the  governing  influence  of  mind 
gave  a  charm  to  both.  It  was  the  inevitable 
and  irresistible  outcome  of  natural  affinity.  Did 
she  love  him?  In  very  truth  she  had  never 
thought  of  him  as  a  lover.  She  had  her  ideals, 
like  other  women,  but  Congalton  was  not  one 
of  them.  She  admired  his  ability,  his  power 
of  absorbing,  transforming,  and  ennobling  the 
rude  materials  with  which  he  worked.  He  was 
intensely  interested  in  the  occupations  of  the 
hour,  as  all  who  turn  them  to  lasting  account 
must  be;  but  she  felt  that  existence,  in  the 
pauses  of  his  activity,  must  be  dull  and  monot- 
onous ;  Eva  was  too  young  to  bestow  the 
quickening  sympathy  it  lacked.  Were  her  pre- 
conceived girlish  notions  of  a  lover  suffering 
change?  It  is  impossible  to  tell  the  precise 
moment  of  time  at  which  the  unlikely  object 
or  person  takes  form  to  fill  the  ideal  niche  in 
the  human  mind.  In  her  own  heart  there  had 
sprung  up,  knowing  his  needs,  an  increasing 
desire  to  shed  something    of  her  own  natural 

brightness  on  his  path.     She  did  not  know  — 
190 


LOVE-MAKING 

nor  did  she,  in  her  eager  desire  to  help  him, 
pause  to  think  —  that  this  in  itself  might  be 
the  precursor  of  a  deeper  sentiment.  The 
declaration  of  Congalton's  feelings,  and  the 
proposal  which  ensued,  while  entirely  unex- 
pected, revealed  to  her  the  true  state  of  her 
own  heart.  The  occasion  was  too  solemn  for 
laughter.  There  was  no  humour  in  the  face 
of  this  man,  who  with  his  pen  could  be  so 
daintily  humorous.  Yet  she  felt  an  impulse  to 
laugh  —  not  at  him,  but  at  herself.  After  their 
day-dreams  and  their  confidences  what  would 
her  sister  Violet  think?  Did  she  not  already 
stand  among  the  ruins  of  her  broken  gods? 
Nevertheless,  the  feeling  immediately  following 
was  one  of  joyful  acquiescence.  For  the 
moment  she  was  oblivious  to  the  future,  but 
only  for  the  moment.  No,  no,  no  —  it  could 
not  be.  She  was  serious  now,  and  had  no 
thought  of  laughter.  Mrs.  Maconkey  had  told 
her  of  Dr.  Congalton's  will.  His  marriage  with 
her  would  involve  the  sacrifice  of  his  interest 
in  it.  If  that  were  all  —  and  she  was  not  insen- 
sible to  its  magnitude  —  she  would  gladly  enter 

into  his  life  and  aid  him  to  retrieve  that  loss; 
191 


DOCTOR  CONGALTON'S  LEGACY 

but  it  meant  more — it  meant  also  the  sacrifice 
of  his  daughter's  portion  :  this  was  insuperable. 

It  was  in  vain  he  assured  her  that  his  present 
means  and  his  capacity  for  work  were  ample 
guarantee  that  no  one  should  suffer.  She  felt 
it  was  an  injustice  to  the  child  who  was  not  of 
age  to  protect  her  own  interests,  and  an  act  to 
which  it  would  be  both  dishonest  and  disloyal 
on  her  part  to  consent. 

There  was  a  russet  memory  of  sunset  on  the 
shoulder  of  the  Baidland  hill  as  Mrs.  Cowie  and 
her  daughter  took  form  at  the  head  of  the  dusky 
loaning  and  placed  their  charge,  flushed  with 
the  agitation  of  entertainment,  in  the  kindly 
arms  of  Mistress  Izet,  at  Broomfields  gate. 
Neither  father  nor  governess  appeared ;  but 
Mrs.  Cowie  derived  comfort  from  the  reflection 
that  the  child  had  been  much  made  of,  and  that 
she  would  not  be  long  in  reporting  to  the  proper 
authority  the  attentions  she  had  received  from 
herself  and  Bell.  Indeed,  Eva  carried  a  souvenir 
of  the  occasion  home  with  her,  for  Mrs.  Cowie, 
with  the  excellent  tact  for  appropriation  which 
distinguished  her,  laid  hands  on  the  bouquet 
that  had  carried  off  the  first  prize,  in  order  that 
192 


LOVE-MAKING 

the    child    might    have     in    her    possession    a 
"  minding  of  the  show." 

Next  morning  Hetty  announced  in  the  school- 
room that  her  pupil  was  to  have  some  holidays, 
her  father  having  arranged  to  take  her  to  the 
seaside  for  a  change. 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  Eva,  clapping  her  hands  with 
delight,  "  shall  I  see  the  Atlantic  Ocean?" 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  you  will  see  the  Atlantic,  and 
the  great  sands  of  Machrihanish  —  won't  that  be 
charming?  " 

"  And  you  will  put  me  on  a  pony?  " 

"  I  fear  there  are  no  ponies  at  Machrihanish ; 
but,  Eva  dear,  I  shall  not  be  there.  Your  father 
has  granted  me  a  few  days'  leave  of  absence  to 
visit  my  own  home." 


'3  193 


CHAPTER   XV 

TROUBLE   AT  BROOMFIELDS 

The  smith  had  got  a  good  story  about  Farmer 
Nicol  (there  was  a  miller  of  the  same  name) 
which  he  was  relating  to  the  candlemaker 
between  the  wicks  of  the  dipping-frame.  The 
sappers  and  miners  were  busy  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Gushetneuk  making  a  survey,  and  were 
trespassing  freely,  and  beyond  need,  without 
saying  by  your  leave.  The  farmer,  as  Pringle 
said,  got  "  kina  nettled,"  and  challenged  them, 
whereupon  they  showed  him  "  a  bit  thing  ca'd  a 
permit  that  entitled  them,  they  said,  to  gang  ony 
gate  they  liked." 

"  That  wud  be  a  kina  leeshins  frae  the  govern- 
ment," said  the  candlemaker,  speaking  into  his 
tallow  vat. 

"  Ay,  they  were  michty  big  aboot  it,  but  wait 
till  ye  hear  —  awa'  gaes  Gushets  and  lets  oot  the 
bull." 

194 


TROUBLE   AT   BROOJMFIELDS 

"  Gran' !  "  cried  Rrough.  "  Na,  but  that  was 
richt  brawly  dune ;  the  bull  wudna  care  a  docken 
for  government  paper.  — Weel  ?" 

"  Man,  they  took  to  their  heels  as  if  the  Foul 
Thief  himsel'  was  efter  them." 

"  And  what  happened  syne  ?  " 

"  Oh,  they  cam'  roon  the  backo'  the  drystane 
dyke,  to  the  march  yett,  and  keekin'  owre,  or- 
dered Nicol  to  tie  up  the  bull.  '  Na,'  quoth  he, 
quite  ceevil  and  canny-like,  '  the  beast  maun 
have  exercise.  I  have  no  right  to  hinder  ye 
trespassing  and  neither  has  the  bull,  but  ye  maun 
satisfee  him  ye  have  a  permit.'  "  While  the  gos- 
sips were  laughing  over  Farmer  Nicol's  strategy, 
a  carriage  and  pair  passed  at  great  speed  over 
the  brig,  and  the  candlemaker  followed  his  friend 
to  the  door  to  learn  who  it  might  be  that  was 
travelling  in  such  unaccustomed  haste. 

"  It's  Maister  Congalton,"  cried  the  smith, 
having  the  earlier  and  the  fuller  view,  ere  the 
horses  spanked  up  the  brae.  "  He  has  the  wee 
lassie  in  his  arms.  I'll  wager  she's  ill;  maybe 
she's  got  hurt  or  something." 

This  surmise  was  strengthened  when,  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  later,  Isaac  Kilgour  was  seen  hurry- 
^95 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

ing  across  Nanny  VVelshe's  garden  as  a  near  cut 
for  the  doctor.  Ritchie  Kilruth  stopped  his 
work  and  called  after  him  as  he  passed ;  and 
Babby  Lawson  hailed  him  from  her  kail-yard, 
but  the  earnestness  of  his  purpose  had  deafened 
him.  Isaac  had  never  been  seen  in  such  perturbed 
haste  before.  When  he  had  delivered  his  mes- 
sage he  took  his  way  homeward  by  the  loan  end, 
crossing  over  the  stepping-stones  to  avoid  curi- 
osity. Nevertheless,  it  was  known  that  evening, 
both  at  Brig-end  and  at  Elsie  Craig's  well,  that 
there  was  fever  at  Broomfields.  To  the  rustic 
mind  the  name  was  synonymous  with  the  plague 
—  not  yet  having  been  difterentiated.  At  the 
former  meeting-place  there  was  genuine  alarm, 
for  some  of  the  older  memories  could  go  back  to 
the  cholera,  and  they  had  it  on  the  authority  of 
Kilruth,  who  had  been  in  foreign  parts,  "  that 
some  o'  thae  fevers  were  that  mortal  they  wud 
kill  a  horse." 

Meantime  the  same  carriage  which  had  passed 
up  during  the  day  with  Mr.  Congalton  and  his 
daughter,  returned  in  the  evening  with  Miss 
Hazlet.  The  excitement  in  the  household  went 
down  at  her  presence.  Her  calm  self-possession 
196 


TROUBLE    AT   BROOMFIELDS 

and  practical  ways  surprised  even  the  doctor. 
The  case,  in  medical  parlance,  was  one  of  scarlet 
fever,  but  Hetty  had  no  fear:  moreover,  she  was 
not  without  experience,  having  volunteered  to 
nurse  a  companion  who  sufifered  from  the  same 
ailment  in  the  cottage  hospital  at  school. 

Congalton  spent  the  afternoon  and  evening 
between  the  sick-room  and  the  study.  He  had 
looked  on  and  written  about  Miss  Nightingale 
in  the  extemporized  hospital  at  Balaklava,  but 
even  she  had  not  filled  his  mind  with  greater 
admiration  than  he  felt  for  this  purposeful  and 
considerate  young  person  in  whose  presence 
everything  fell  into  methodical  and  appropriate 
order. 

When  Isaac  Kilgour,  at  Hetty's  request, 
brought  up  the  chair-bed  and  placed  it  near 
that  of  the  patient,  Congalton  remonstrated,  and 
proposed  to  engage  the  services  of  a  nurse  from 
the  County  Hospital.  The  remonstrance,  how- 
ever, was  in  vain.  No  one  knew  the  tempera- 
ment of  the  child  as  she  did  —  and  that  was 
much  in  such  cases.  The  mother  of  the  maid- 
of-all-work   had  tapped   at   the  kitchen  window 

and  spirited  her  daughter  away  in  panic.     Hetty 
197 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

knew  that  the  employment  of  a  nurse  would 
simply  be  adding  more  trouble  to  a  house  already 
undermanned.  Isaac  hung  about  in  a  kind  of 
anxious  daze,  courting  usefulness;  when  there 
was  no  more  to  do,  he  volunteered  to  help  in 
the  kitchen. 

During  these  preliminaries,  the  patient  looked 
on  with  flushed  cheeks  and  glistening  eyes. 
Strange  thoughts  were  passing  through  the  ever 
active  mind,  but  she  harboured  them  till  the 
flurry  was  over. 

"  Papa,"  she  whispered,  looking  in  his  face 
with  earnest  gaze,  as  he  stooped  over  her  to  say 
good-night,  "  papa,  don't  people  have  headaches, 
or  something,  before  they  die?" 

"  My  darling,"  he  replied,  with  simulated 
cheerfulness,  "  why  do  you  think  of  such 
things?  Miss  Hazlet  is  kindly  taking  all 
these  precautions  to  make  you  well." 

"  But  I  have  no  headache  at  all,  papa;  see,  I 
could  sit  up  quite  well  —  my  throat  is  only  the 
least  little  bit  sore  —  that  is  all." 

Next  day  the  patient  was  more  prostrate 
physically,  but  her  mind  was  abnormally  active. 
Memory  was  undoing  her  lock-fast  places,  and 


TROUBLE    AT   BROOMFIELDS 

flashes  of  things  that  had  been  seemed  to  fall 
athwart  her  mental  vision.  She  was  back  in  the 
seminary  of  the  "  scarlet  woman,"  as  Mistress 
Izet  had  no  hesitation  in  calling  her. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Hazlet,"  Eva  opened  her  eyes  as 
the  soft  hand  of  the  nurse  stole  under  the  clothes 
seeking  the  pulse,  "you  should  have  seen  how 
angry  Miss  Vanderbilt  was  with  Flo." 

"  Flo?" 

"  Yes,  Flo  Tregartan,  she  was  the  little  servant 
—  the  kitchen  girl,  you  know  —  she  took  pennies 
out  of  the  young  ladies'  pockets.  Wasn't  it 
naughty  to  take  pennies  that  were  not  her  own?  " 

"Yes,  dear,  it  was  very  naughty;  but  the 
doctor  says  you  must  try  to  sleep." 

The  patient  put  a  hot  hand  obediently  under  her 
cheek  and  closed  her  eyes  again,  but  these  early 
school-days  had  possession  of  the  little  brain. 

"  Flo  had  a  grey  laugh,"  she  said,  by  and  by 
with  some  degree  of  mental  continuity  —  "a 
funny  grey  laugh,  just  like  a  boy's.  Miss  Van- 
derbilt had  a  yellow  laugh.  Papa's  laugh  is 
grey,  but  different  from  Flo's.  Most  of  the  girls 
had  a  white  laugh ;   but  none  of  them  had  such 

a  nice,  sweet,  white  laugh  as  yours." 
199 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

Three  days  elapsed,  and  the  fever  ran  its 
exhausting  course.  Hetty  was  with  her  charge 
constantly.  Mrs.  Cowie,  honestly  anxious  about 
the  child's  condition,  had  come  in  person,  and 
thrown  gravel  at  the  kitchen  window,  receiving 
the  housek'ceper's  report,  with  the  prix^et  hedge 
between  them. 

"  Mind  and  tell  the  maister  I  ventured  doon 
bye  to  speir,"  she  admonished. 

The  minister  did  not  call,  his  moral  cowardice 
in  the  face  of  infectious  trouble  was  well  known, 
but  he  charged  the  doctor  not  to  belittle  his 
anxiety  about  the  patient.  The  school-master 
forbade  the  attendance  at  school  of  the  kitchen- 
maid's  brother. 

"  It  was  sentiment,"  he  explained  apologet- 
ically to  the  merchant  who  kept  a  limited 
supply  of  medicines,  "  but  having  the  care  of 
youth  public  sentiment  must  be  respected." 

Zedie  Lawson  complained  of  a  sore  throat,  and 
his  mouth  had  a  more  pronounced  exclamatory 
look  ever  since  the  postman  returned  to  tell  his 
wife  he  had  delivered  the  message  to  her  sister 
that  she  was  not  to  call.  Only  Nancy  Beedam 
would  come  near  the  house.     She  had  buried 

200 


TROUBLE    AT    BROOMFIELDS 

throe  bairns,  and  knew  what  trouble  was.  On 
the  fourth  day,  the  doctor  was  not  beyond 
admitting  that  the  case  puzzled  him. 

"  Had  it  not  been  such  a  pronounced  case  of 
scarlet  fever,"  he  said,  after  a  prolonged  diagnosis, 
"  I  would  say  the  child  had  measles."  True 
enough,  when  he  next  returned  measles  had 
developed.  A  neighbouring  practitioner  with  a 
long  record  was  summoned  for  consultation. 
He  had  only  known  one  case  of  the  kind  in  his 
varied  experience.  There  was  a  private  putting 
of  heads  together.  Medical  science  gave  measles 
fourteen  days  to  show  itself,  and  scarlet  fever 
three.  On  further  sifting,  it  was  found  to  be 
exactly  fourteen  days  since  the  flower-show  at 
Kilmory,  and  measles  were  known  to  be  rife  there. 
The  deduction  was  inevitable  —  scarlet  fever  must 
have  been  contracted  after  the  other  virus  had 
begun  to  operate  —  probably  in  some  highland 
conveyance  or  hotel.  How  beautiful  and  precise 
were  the  deductions  of  medical  science  ! 

Meantime  the  little  sufferer's  strength,  sorely 
wounded  by  the  first  attack,  was  but  indifferently 
able  to  withstand  this  cruel  complication.  She 
suffered    from   a  rasping  cough   that    gave  her 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

little  rest.  Strange  thoughts  and  fancies  would 
come  across  the  patient's  mind,  finding  imperfect 
expression  in  broken  phrases.  At  night-time, 
feeling  the  needless  pang  of  a  tender  conscience, 
she  would  start  up,  and  kneeling  on  the  bed 
with  her  hands  and  head  resting  on  Hetty's 
bosom,  repeat  the  little  prayer  she  fancied  she 
had  forgotten  to  say.  Though  Congalton  retired 
to  his  room  down-stairs  after  nightfall,  it  was 
not  to  sleep. 

These  thoughtful  vigils  revealed  to  him  how 
tenderly  he  loved  his  child.  Her  quaint  sayings 
and  doings,  the  delightful  memory  of  the  intimate 
companionship  of  the  week  they  had  passed 
together,  haunted  him,  while  overhead  on  the 
uncarpeted  floor  the  audible  evidence  of  minis- 
tration told  of  the  exhausting  sleeplessness  of 
the  patient,  and  the  anxious  tendance  of  the 
nurse.  And  so  this  eternity  of  days  and  nights 
rolled  slowly  on,  till  the  doctor's  anxiety  became 
equally  divided  between  the  two ;  the  former 
did  not  gain  strength,  and  the  latter  had  been 
by  the  bedside  all  the  time  practically  without 
sleep  or  rest.  Worn  at  length  to  submission, 
Hetty  retired,  leaving  father  and  child  together, 


TROUBLE   AT   BROOMFIELDS 

while  Mistress  Izet  kept  temporary  watch  in  her 
own  domain,  within  call.  Congalton's  masculine 
and  active  habits  of  life  had  left  little  time  for 
introspection,  but  as  he  sat  there,  hour  after 
hour,  looking  at  the  unnaturally  flushed  face  and 
swollen  lips,  between  which  the  light  breath 
passed  in  fitful  pulsations,  memory  had  many 
backward  glances.  His  wife  died  when  he  was 
on  foreign  service.  The  news  had  broken  him 
for  weeks,  but  he  had  been  spared  the  sight  of 
her  suffering,  and  the  pain  of  articulate  fare- 
wells. In  his  daughter  he  had  recently  seen, 
at  unexpected  moments,  startling  glimpses  of 
resemblance  to  her  mother.  In  smile,  in  glance, 
in  gesture,  in  the  sudden  pose  of  her  head. 
Poor  Eve,  as  he  loved  playfully  to  call  her,  pain- 
worn  and  fever-tossed,  how  his  heart  melted  in 
tender  desire  —  what  suffering  would  he  not  have 
endured  if  suffering  were  vicarious?  It  is  at 
such  moments  strong  men  pray,  in  their  utter 
helplessness.  Towards  midnight  the  patient 
became  uneasy;  the  parched  lips  moved  as  the 
little  head  turned  in  the  golden  sheen  of  her 
hair.  He  stooped  reverently,  to  catch  the  half- 
uttered  words  — 

203 


DOCTOR    CONGALTON'S    LEGACY 

"Jesus  .  .  .  tender  .  .  .  Shepherd,  hear  me  .  .  ." 

Her  Hps  still  moved,  but  there  was  only  the 
sound  of  lisping  breath ;  with  an  access  of 
earnest  entreaty,  however,  she  continued  more 
audibly  — 

"  Through  .  .  .  the  .  .  .  darkness  ...  be 
Thou  .   .  .  near  me  .  .  ." 

Tears  came  to  this  strong  man's  e}'es  as  his 
own  heart  went  from  him  in  fervent  supplication 
for  the  fulfilment  of  the  child's  prayer.  Con- 
galton  was  not  a  praying  man,  and  he  was 
heathen  enough  not  to  know  the  little  prayer 
Eva  had  been  taught  to  utter  devoutly  at  Hetty's 
knee ;  the  appropriate  simplicity  and  pathos  of 
the  words,  however,  struck  him.  The  "  little 
lamb,"  unconscious  of  his  presence,  was  calling 
out  of  the  darkness  for  succour.  He  took  her 
small  burning  hands  in  his,  and  held  them 
soothingly,  but  even  in  this  intense  wish  to  be 
near  and  help  his  own  child,  he  felt  how  help- 
lessly far  he  was  removed  from  her  —  the 
fevered  head  still  continued  restless,  and  the 
dry  lips  moved  with  the  sibilant  lispings  of  inar- 
ticulate words.     Congalton  had  seen  the  furious 

surge  of  battle  ;  the  thinning  of  solid  ranks,  the 
204 


TROUBLE    AT   BROOMFIELDS 

brilliant  charge  at  the  cannon's  mouth,  with 
comrades  and  acquaintances  falling  all  around, 
but  the  blood  was  coursing  in  militant  madness, 
imagination  and  reflection  had  no  nook  in  which 
to  brood.  Nothing  in  the  red  front  of  war  was 
ever  half  so  unmanning  to  the  paternal  heart  as 
the  fevered  restlessness  of  his  suffering  child. 
While  he  watched,  and  compassionated,  Eva 
opened  her  eyes :  they  glittered  for  a  moment, 
but  not  with  recognition. 

"  Miss  Hazlet,  Miss  Hazlet,  is  it  a  long  way 
to  the  Happy  Land  }  —  see  —  I  forgot  to  say  my 
prayers." 

She  started  to  her  knees,  but  he  took  her  in 
his  arms  and  tried  tenderly  to  control  her. 

"  My  darling,  my  darling,"  he  whispered  in 
her  ear,  "  you  have  said  your  prayers  already," 
but  she  did  not  regard  his  words.  Putting  her 
finger-tips  reverently  together,  she  rested  her 
hands  on  his  shoulder,  while  he  pressed  her 
gently  to  his  breast.  He  could  not  mistake  the 
burning,  but  imperfectly  lisped  words  now  — 

"  Jesus  —  tender  Shepherd  —  hear  me. 
Bless  —  thy  little  lamb  —  to-niG;ht, 
Through  the  darkness — be  Thou  near  me, 
Keep  me  safe  till  morning  light.  —  (lod  bless  papa  .  .  ." 
205 


DOCTOR  CONGALTON'S  LEGACY 

Her  over-exerted  strength  had  collapsed  —  but 
she  had  prayed  for  herself  and  —  for  him.  It 
was  the  last  supreme  effort.  He  laid  her  down 
tenderly,  and  was  smoothing  her  head  on  the 
pillow,  when  Hetty  stole  noiselessly  into  the 
room  and  slipped  to  his  side.  The  breathing 
was  not  so  laboured  now.  Hetty  stooped  to 
listen.  It  was  no  time  for  womanly  tears.  She 
raised  her  head  without  looking  in  his  face,  and 
murmured  a  few  words  brokenly. 

He  did  not  answer.  He  stooped  and  kissed 
the  small,  pale  brow  that  had  lately  pressed  his 
shoulder.     "  My  poor  Eve  ! " 

"  God's  Eve,"  was  the  amended  response. 


206 


CHAPTER   XVI 

HETTY   HAZLET  AT   HOME 

It  was  five  weeks,  luckily,  before  Barbara  Law- 
son  would  allow  her  sister,  Mistress  Izet,  to  enter 
her  door.  Even  then  she  conversed  with  her 
over  the  kitchen  table.  Though  Zedie  knew  of 
his  sister-in-law's  visit,  he  kept  eidently  to  his 
loom.  Mistress  Izet  had  sat  in  his  chair,  and 
the  poor  man  thought  so  much  about  it  that  he 
took  catarrh  in  the  head,  and  on  the  third  day 
a  rash  appeared  on  his  chest.  The  smith,  who 
had  some  skill  of  ordinary  troubles,  said  it  was 
"fancy,  complicated  wi'  thinness  o'  bluid,"  and 
ordered  him  some  "openin'  medicine,"  The 
kitchen-girl  had  returned  to  do  "orrajobs"  at 
Broomfields,  but  slept  at  home.  Mrs.  Cowie 
regarded  the  recent  dispensation  very  much  in 
the  light  of  how  it  would  bear  upon  her  own 
plans.     She  felt  the  death  of  the  child  swelled 

the  total  of  her  daughter's  tocher,   but  it  had 
207 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

minimized  the  chances  of  an  alliance  which 
would  have  soothed  her  ambition  and  made  her 
practically  mistress  of  the  whole.  The  library- 
had  not  done  much  for  her,  but  as  yet  the 
chances  had  been  against  it,  owing  to  the 
"smittal  "  trouble  in  Broomfields.  On  this  sub- 
ject she  was  angered  by  William  Lonen,  the 
school-master.  William  was  not  a  humourist, 
nor  was  he  a  lover  of  light  literature,  but  he 
laughed  right  out  when  he  glanced  at  the  mis- 
cellaneous collection  of  antiquated  and  obsolete 
tomes,  and  with  the  brutality  of  a  man  not 
accustomed  to  respect  feelings,  said  they  would 
be  handy  on  the  counter  for  small  parcels  if  she 
ever  started  shopkeeping.  To  do  her  justice, 
whatever  her  motives  were,  Mrs.  Cowie  was  the 
first  to  visit  Broomfields  to  offer  sympathy. 

"  Na,  but  ye  set  thae  mourning  things  brawly," 
her  husband  had  remarked,  coming  in  hot  from 
the  harvest-field  as  his  wife  was  preparing  to 
depart.  "  Will  ye  say  onything  anent  the  wee 
thing's  siller.?" 

"It'll    depend  on  hoo  the  crack  turns,"  she 

replied,  looking  in  the  glass  for  justification  of 

her  husband's  compliment.     Compliments  were 

not  rife  with  him. 

208 


HETTY  HAZLET   AT   HOME 

Congalton  was  neither  blind  nor  deaf  to  Mrs. 
Cowie's  shallow  pretensions.  The  conversation 
did  not  turn  as  was  desired,  and  she  could  not 
force  confidence,  though  she  tried  bravely.  As  a 
result  of  her  interview,  it  was  somehow,  though 
not  without  resistance,  borne  in  on  her  mind 
that  he  would  never  marry  Bell. 

Her  visit  to  Broomfields  was  so  barren  in 
everything,  even  in  news,  that  she  halted  at  the 
school-house  to  have  a  gossip  with  Mrs.  Lonen. 
There  she  learned  that  the  governess  had  re- 
turned to  her  own  home.  The  minister  had 
told  the  school-master,  and  the  school-master 
confided  to  his  wife,  that  the  young  doctor  was 
fair  off  his  head  about  the  little  woman  who  had 
nursed  his  patient. 

"  The  sly  piece !     She  kens  fine  hoo  to  set  her 
feathers  for  the  men." 

"Na,  but  they  tell  me  she  was  by-ord'nar  at 
the  nursing." 

"May  be  that,"  said  Mrs.  Cowie  dryly;  "but 

the  wean  dee't;  there's  no  mucklc  to  show  for 

guid  nursing.      I  suppose  the    maister   packed 

her  aff  when  her  work  was  dune.      I'm  tli inking 

he'd  have  been  better  ser't  wi'  a  proper  nurse 

from  the  first." 

M  209 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

"As  to  packing  her  off,  I'm  no  clear  about 
that.  Mistress  Izet  is  said  to  alloo  that  either 
the  doctor  or  Mr.  Congalton  will  marry  her." 

"  Mr.  Congalton  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Cowie. 

"  Ay,  or  the  doctor,  she  doesna  ken  which  o' 
the  twa's  daftest  aboot  her." 

On  her  way  home  Mrs.  Cowie  forgathered 
with  Nanny  Pinkerton,  the  spae-wife.  On 
ordinary  occasions  she  would  have  given  this 
woman  the  go-bye,  but  disappointment  had 
provoked  impatience.  She  invited  her  civilly 
to  tea,  if  perad venture  spae-craft  might  be  able 
to  forecast  some  glimpse  of  the  future.  It  was 
a  pitiful  pass  to  which  this  strong-willed  woman 
had  come,  but  she  knew  that  neither  Bell  nor 
her  husband  would  be  at  home  to  see  it.  The 
sibyl  tossed  her  cup  and  plied  her  art  according 
to  custom,  but  by  her  own  confession  only 
groped  in  the  dark. 

The  revelation  she  had  to  make  was  all  about 
the  sea.  Nan  cast  the  cup  many  times  with 
similar  results.  The  marine  disaster,  repeatedly 
foretold,  was  tantalizingly  irrelevant  to  the  situa- 
tion, and  afforded  Mrs.  Cowie  but  small  portent 
of  good.  Her  brother-in-law  was  a  sea-faring 
man  —  the  captain  of  a  sailing  vessel,  with  a  wife 


HETTY    HAZLET   AT    HOME 

and  four  small    children,    living  from   hand  to 
mouth  in  Saltcoats.     The  women,  however,  had 
not  exchanged  words  since  the  funeral  of  Mrs. 
Cowie  senior.     The  old  lady  lived  and  died  in 
the  house  of  her  daughter-in-law  in  the  seaport 
town,  and  naturally  left  all  she  possessed  to  her. 
There  was  not  much  to  differ  about,  but  Mrs. 
Cowie  said  the  old  lady  had  promised  her  silver 
spoons  to  Bell,  and  threatened  to  break  the  will. 
That  night  there  were  high  words,  needlessly,  at 
Windy-yett,  after  Bell  and  the  servants  retired 
to  bed.      Mrs.  Cowie  had  brooded  all  afternoon 
and  evening  over  the  spae-woman's  forecast,  and 
at  length  settled  down  to  the  unwavering  con- 
viction   that    disaster    had    overtaken    Captain 
Cowie,  and  that  somehow  the  legal  burden  of 
those  dependent  on  him  would  fall  on  her  and 
her  husband.      The  farmer  could  not  understand 
his  wife's  sudden  and  unexpected  interest  in  the 
captain  and  his  affairs.      She  put  many  leading 
questions,  and  elicited  that  her  brother-in-law 
was    on    his    way  home   from    Jamaica  to   the 
Clyde. 

"If  onything  happened  till  him,  wud  the  law 
throw  the  burden  o'  his  wife  and  weans  on 
us.?" 

21  I 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

"  But  what  puts  it  into  your  head  that  ony- 
thing  has  happened  ?     Have  ye  heard  ill  news  ?  " 

"I'm  just  speirin',''  she  said  curtly. 

"Speirin',''  he  replied,  with  uncommon  heat; 
"you're  just  blethering  like  a  young  canary. " 

Had  her  wedded  husband  been  a  wool-broker, 
as  might  have  been,  Mrs.  Cowie  felt  she  would 
not  have  been  treated  with  such  indignity. 

"As  to  the  law,"  her  husband  continued,  "I 
kenna  what  it  could  mak'  us  do;  but  if  ony- 
thing  happens  to  Jack,  I  suppose  we  couldna 
stand  by  and  see  them  withoot  bite  and  sup,  so 
lang  as  we  had  it  to  spare." 

"Ay,  ye' 11  bring  them  in  and  set  them  doon 
i'  the  best  corner  o'  the  house  without  speirin' 
leave,  I  suppose." 

"Wha  has  asked  ye  to  tak'  them  in.-*"  cried 
Windy-yett,  in  a  higher  tone  than  was  natural 
to  him.  This  subject  was  a  tinder-box  which 
had  often  been  ignited  before,  and  was  there- 
fore easily  kindled.  "  You're  surely  running  aff 
wi'  the  harrows  a'  thegether. " 

"  Ye've  said  enough, "  she  replied  firmly.  "  I 
ken  your  mind,  Ritchie  Cowie,  but  let  me  tell 
ye  this,  if  ever  Nancy  Cowie  or  ane  o'  hers 
enters  this  door  to  bide  —  then  guid-bye  toye. " 


HETTY    HAZLET   AT    HOME 

She  snapped  her  fingers  in  a  passion,  and 
went  off  to  bed.  For  the  moment  Congalton 
and  his  concerns,  as  well  as  her  own  matrimonial 
schemes,  were  out  of  mind.  The  reading  of  the 
cups  had  brought  no  comfort.  Those  who,  per- 
force, would  compel  prevision,  will,  as  like  as  not, 
miss  their  immediate  aim,  and  probably,  as  in 
this  case,  find  that  revealed  to  them  which  it  is 
not  for  their  peace  of  mind  to  know. 

Meantime  the  call  for  Hetty  Hazlet  at  Broom- 
fields  had  come  to  an  end.  She  had  fought  and 
prayed  for  the  life  of  the  child,  but  all  had  been 
in  vain.  She  resolved  to  give  no  occasion  for 
speculation  as  to  the  relationship  between  Mr. 
Congalton  and  herself  by  lingering  under  his 
roof  when  her  work  was  done.  How  dreadfully 
strange  and  mysterious  that  the  child  in  whose 
interests  she  had  declined  to  marry  Mr.  Con- 
galton should  be  so  suddenly  removed.  This 
thought  was  on  the  mind  of  both  at  parting,  but 
the  grief  was  so  fresh  and  overmastering  that 
neither  dared  to  touch  it. 

Hetty  enjoyed  the  rest  at  home  among   her 

own  people.      Her   sojourn  at  Kilspindie   had 

ripened  and  broadened  her  mind  in  many  ways, 

but  it  had  told  on  her  health.      Autumn  was  at 
213 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

its  best  in  fruit  and  colour.  The  parish  of  Kil- 
baan  was  then,  and  is  reputed  to  be  still,  one  of 
the  best-wooded  districts  in  Ayrshire.  The 
over-ripe  woods  in  Balgrey  Glen,  and  along  the 
valley  of  the  Arne  to  where  it  issues  from  Loch 
Sheen,  seemed  as  if  they  had  burst  into  flame 
of  various  degrees  of  intensity.  With  her  ab- 
sorbing love  of  nature,  it  was  delightful  to  roam 
alone  among  the  woods  in  the  first  days  of  her 
freedom,  and  in  her  communings  with  the 
soothing  objects  around,  to  exclude  from  her 
mind  the  scenes  which  overclouded  the  imme- 
diate retrospect.  As  a  child  she  knew  these 
age-worn  and  mouldy  paths,  now  noisy  to  the 
feet  by  reason  of  the  heavy  pile  of  the  varied 
leaf-carpet  which  a  couple  of  nips  of  frost  had 
laid  for  her.  To  these  woods  her  father  used 
to  conduct  her  in  spring  and  teach  her,  as  far  as 
he  himself  knew  it,  the  mystery  of  bursting  bud 
and  uncurling  frond.  Later,  she  would  steal 
out  by  herself,  this  timid  little  girl,  with  the 
wide,  inquiring  eyes,  and  watch  this  object- 
lesson,  while  the  wild  hyacinth  developed  a 
cerulean  sheen  above  the  young  grass,  and 
primroses  like  golden  stars  twinkled   in   bosky 

places.     Then,  ere  she  knew,  soft  yellow  whorls 
2 14 


HETTY    HAZLET   AT   HOME 

would  appear  on  the  chestnut  ;  and  the  great 
pillared  glen,  cut  off  from  the  sun  by  its  ample 
happing  of  leaves,  would  drowse  in  the  insect 
hum  of  summer.  But  when  the  robin  piped 
among  the  mellowing  fruit  on  the  ancient  pear- 
tree,  and  blood-red  foils  spotted  the  decaying 
green  of  the  hedge  round  the  manse  garden,  it 
was  then  her  pulses  tingled  with  delight,  for  she 
knew  the  brown  nuts  were  on  the  hazels,  the  red 
rowans  on  the  mountain-ash,  and  that  the  woods 
were  aglow  with  transforming  colour.  These 
and  other  memories  recurred  to  her  during  these 
meditative  rambles.  There  were  also  visits  to 
pay  to  old  friends  in  bien  farm  towns,  whose 
hospitality,  always  hearty,  was  broadened  by  an 
abundant  harvest  early  and  safely  gathered. 

Miss  Hazlet  often  accompanied  Hetty  in  her 
excursions.  It  was  a  really  happy  time  for 
both  girls,  for  they  had  mutual  confidences  to 
exchange  in  the  quiet  loanings.  The  young 
minister,  Mr.  Breckenridge,  their  father's  suc- 
cessor, had  proposed  to  Miss  Hazlet  since  Hetty 
and  her  sister  last  met.  They  were  engaged, 
but  the  engagement  had  not  yet  been  formally 
announced.  There  was  to  be  a  sale  of  work  for 
215 


DOCTOR    CONGALTON'S    LEGACY 

repairs  on  the  manse,  and  the  ladies  young  and 
old  in  this  and  the  neighbouring  parishes  were 
working  for  it  with  might  and  main,  and  such 
news  prematurely  spread  would  have  been 
detrimental  to  this  laudable  energy- — they 
were  pawky,  these  worldly  lovers.  Even  An- 
dra  Carruthers,  the  beadle,  who  knew  most  of 
the  manse  secrets,  had  to  be  kept  in  ignorance 
of  this  one.  The  beadle  was  at  first  rather  jeal- 
ous of  the  sudden  activity  of  the  congregation 
under  the  new  minister,  but  he  was  not  slow  to 
put  the  proper  appraisement  upon  it. 

"  Wait,"  he  said  to  Hetty  one  day,  when  they 
were  talking  over  church  matters,  "wait  till  the 
minister  marries  —  it'll  mak'  a  lock  o'  differ- 
ence. He  may  add  ae  willing  worker  to  the 
manse,  but  my  certie,  there'll  be  a  heap  fewer 
workers  i'  the  congregation." 

Being  great  friends,  Hetty  gently  sounded 
this  mighty  official  as  to  his  opinion  of  her 
father's  successor  as  a  preacher. 

"  Weel,  ye  see,  Miss  Hetty,  a  buddy  that's  no 
bigoted  comes  roun'.  At  first,  I  confess  to  ye, 
I  was  sair  exerceest.     He  writes  every  word  o' 

his  sermons,  but  it  wasna  a'  thegether  that.     I 

216 


HETTY    HAZLET   AT    HOME 

dare  say  yc'll  have  heard  tell  o'  the  day  when 
he  tauld  us  that  Heaven  wi'  its  golden  streets, 
and  its  pearly  gates,  and  Hell  wi'  its  fire  and 
brimstane,  were  mere  feegurs  o'  speech  intended, 
so  to  speak,  for  carnal  minds.  That  as  gold 
and  pearls  were  precious  things,  and  much  to  be 
desired,  so  fire  and  brimstone  were  commodities, 
as  it  were,  folk  would  keep  faurest  awa'  frae. 
That  in  their  leeteral  sense  these  things  were 
monstrous  conceptions  o'  Heaven  and  Hell. 
Weel,  as  sure  as  death,  Miss  Hetty,  I  was  mortal 
shocked.  Thinks  I  to  mysel',  this  is  awfu'.  Is 
it  my  duty  to  carry  the  books  to  a  man  that's 
spoilin'  the  profession  for  baith  o'  us  by  rakin' 
the  very  hert  oot  o'  —  the  bad  place.  Miss  Hetty, 
I'm  just  telling  ye  the  honest  truth  hoo  I  felt. 
I  did  not  ken  what  wye  to  look,  till  my  e'e  fell 
on  the  face  o'  Saunders  M'Phee,  i'  the  front  o'  the 
laft.  Ye  ken  the  wye  Saunders  has  o'  aye  nod, 
noddin'  when  a  thing  pleases  him?  Weel,  I 
didna  see  him  noddin',  but  there  was  a  bit  smile 
at  the  corners  o'  his  lips  that  maistly  follows 
his  nods  when  he's  satisfeet.  Thinks  I,  I'll  do 
nothing  rash  till  I've  seen  Saunders.  It'll  maybe 
be  a  Presbytery  business :  they  can  easily  send 

217 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

anither  minister,  but  whare  would  they  get  a 
beadle?  —  no  in  this  parish.  So,  efter  denner, 
I  daunners  alang  to  the  schulehoose,  and  meets 
Saunders  at  the  door.  '  VVeel,'  says  I,  '  what 
do  ye  think  o'  your  minister  noo?'  Saunders 
was  great  on  him.  '  Better  and  better,'  says 
Saunders.  '  That  was  a  grand  discourse  we 
had  the  day.'  '  But  did  ye  hear  what  he  said 
aboot  Heaven  and — the  ither  place?'  says 
I,  thinking  maybe  the  bit  had  slipped  him. 
'  Man,  he  spoke  oot  weel  at  yon  bit,'  quoth 
Saunders,  '  we  maun  get  rid  o'  thae  auld  mate- 
rialistic notions.'  *  Ye  were  on  the  wye  to  be  a 
minister  yoursel','  says  I  — for  it  was  because  o' 
this  I  lippened  till  him.  '  True,'  quoth  he,  '  that 
was  lang  syne ;  but  I  didna  go  foret,  for  I  never 
could  have  dared  to  preach  what  I  believed  — 
they  would  have  deposed  me.  Yet  my  views 
were  then,  what  Mr.  Breckenridge  and  other 
spiritually-minded  ministers  are  preaching  the 
day.  Be  thankfu'  for  this,  and  dinna  vex  your- 
sel',' he  says  kindly.  '  In  my  young  days  I  was 
taught  that  the  devil  was  placed  i'  the  world  to 
tempt  us  to  evil,  while  God  was  represented  as 

standing  owre   us   ready  to  detect  and   punish 
218 


HETTY   HAZLET   AT   HOME 

sin,  and,  being  a  thochtfu'  callant,  between  the 
twa  I  had  a  mortal  bad  time  o't.  The  tender 
and  protecting  fatherhood  of  the  Ahnighty  as 
revealed  in  His  Son  had  no  place  in  the  auld 
theology.  I  tell  ye,  Sandy,  I  had  no  peace  till 
I  coupet  the  cairt,  gied  up  John  Calvin,  and 
took  to  reading  the  Scriptures  for  mysel'  wi'  an 
open  mind.'  '  But  dinna  ye  believe  in  fire  and 
brimstane?'  quoth  I,  laith  to  let  the  thing  slip. 
'  No,'  says  he,  '  I  believe  in  an  intellectual  hell. 
Wrang-doing  i'  the  end  will  have  the  same  effect 
on  mind  and  conscience  as  fire  and  brimstane 
has  on  the  body.' " 

"  I  have  often  thought  Saunders  should  write 
a  book,"  said  Hetty. 

"  For  mercy  sake,  dinna  put  that  into  his 
head.  I  ance  heard  o'  a  minister  wha  did  that, 
but  he  wrote  himsel'  inside  oot  and  then  he  was 
dune.  It's  a  comfort  hearing  Saunders  coming 
oot  by  degrees  —  being  mysel'  a  man  o' the  auld 
schule,  so  to  speak,  he  has  helpet  me  owre  a 
guid  wheen  prejudices  —  I  am  beginning  to 
understan'  the  minister  better.  Sam'l  Filshie 
thinks  him  owre  broad,  but  broad  or  no  broad, 
he  has  brocht  a  heap  o'  folk  to  the  kirk  that 

2  19 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

never  darkened  the  door  afore  —  no  disrespect, 
Miss  Hetty,  to  your  worthy  faither.  Jeems 
Warnock,  the  freethinker,  WiUie  Whammond, 
the  chartist,  Dougie  Brand,  and  ithers  I  could 
name,  have  now  sittings,  and  what  is  mair,  pay 
for  them.  Speaking  o'  that  puts  me  in  mind  o' 
a  guid  story.  Ye  mind  Habbie  Steenston,  the 
twister,  Miss  Hetty?  Weel,  Habbie  was  tvva 
hauf  years  ahin-haun  wi'  his  seat-rent.  Habbie 
would  cheat  even  the  kirk  if  he  could  get  aff 
wi't.  So  I  tells  the  minister.  *  Oh,  ask  him  to 
speak  to  me  in  the  vestry,'  says  he,  taking  aff 
his  gown.  So  my  man  comes  in,  turning  his 
bonnet  round  and  round  unco  sheepish  like,  wi' 
ae  ee  looking  stracht  oot  o'  the  window,  and 
the  other  fixed  o'  the  airm  o'  the  minister's  chair 
—  ye  mind  hoo  Habbie  glee't?  Aweel,  but  he 
aye  glee't  waurwhen  he  was  excited.  '  I'm  glad 
to  see  you  and  the  mistress  so  regular  in  your 
places  on  the  Sabbath  day,'  says  the  minister, 
'  but  they  tell  me  you  get  behind  wi'  the  seat- 
rent.'  'Ay,'  says  Habbie,  '  tu  isting's  gey  bad 
the  noo '  —  that  was  a  story,  but  the  man  was 
never  a  great  hand  at  the  truth.  '  Ye  smoke?' 
says   the    minister.      *  Ou-ay,    I    smoke,'  quoth 

220 


HETTY   HAZLET  AT   HOME 

Habbie.  '  How  much  will  ye  smoke  in  the 
week  ?  '  'I  never  took  thocht ;  it's  the  wife 
buys  the  tobacco.'  '  Will  you  smoke  a  couple 
of  ounces?  '  says  the  minister,  pegging  at  him 
hard.  '  Like  enough,'  says  the  man.  '  Weel,' 
quoth  the  minister,  '  most  of  us  have  to  make 
sacrifices,  suppose  you  knock  an  ounce  a  week 
off  your  smoking  —  and  pay  your  seat-rents.' 
'  But  ye  forget,  sir,'  quoth  Habbie  quite  inno- 
cently, '  ye  forget  I  get  some  guid  o'  my  smokin'.' 
Miss  Hetty,  ye  could  have  tied  the  minister  wi' 
a  straw,  as  the  sayin'  is.  He  tauld  the  story 
right  hertily  efter-hin  to  Saunders  M'Phee, 
though  it  was  against  himsel'.  The  minister 
thocht  the  twister  was  a  humourist;  but  when  I 
spoke  to  Habbie  gaun  up  the  1-211  brae  on  the  Mon- 
day, he  seemed  to  think  he  had  the  worst  o'  the 
crack,  especially  when  the  minister  laughed  at 
him ;  in  truth  he  was  on  his  wye  owre  to  the 
cork  to  borrow  money  to  pay  his  seats." 

Hetty  entertained  the  little  home-circle  after- 
wards with  the  beadle's  stories.  As  a  brother-in- 
law  she  felt  satisfied  Mr.  Breckenridge  would 
do. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

A    CHAPTER   OF   ACCIDENTS 

Christmas  dawned,  if  such  could  be  truly  said 
about  it,  to  find  ditches  obliterated,  and  all  minor 
irregularities  on  the  face  of  the  landscape 
brought  to  a  common  level.  During  the  previous 
day  and  night  the  air  had  been  weighted  with  a 
dense  mist  of  snow  thick  as  dust  in  a  sunbeam. 
The  houses  on  the  west  side  of  the  long  street 
which  contained  the  bulk  of  the  population  of 
Kilbaan  being  open  to  the  drift,  were  snowed 
up,  most  of  them  above  the  horizontal  bar  of 
the  half-door.  All  outside  labour  in  forest  and 
field  was  arrested,  but  there  was  ample  employ- 
ment at  home.  Man,  woman,  and  child,  capable 
of  wielding  spade  or  shovel,  had  been  busy  from 
early  morn  liberating  themselves  or  their  neigh- 
bours from  the  white  drift  that  blocked  windows 


A   CHAPTER   OF   ACCIDENTS 

and  doors.  It  was  twelve  o'clock  before  the 
last  prisoner  was  free.  But  a  fresh  excitement 
was  kindled  in  the  village  mind  when  the  beadle 
came  ploughing  along  the  lee-side  of  the  road, 
driving  the  dry  snow  from  his  knees,  shouting 
and  gesticulating.  The  men  were  standing  up- 
right resting  on  the  implements  they  had  been 
using,  in  the  spaces  they  had  cleared ;  women 
and  children,  eased  in  their  minds  as  to  their 
own  personal  safety,  hurried  to  the  door  at  this 
new  note  of  alarm. 

"  It's  a  tragedy,"  said  the  drainer,  shading  his 
eyes  to  survey  the  approaching  figure. 

"  Od,  I'll  no  say  but  the  mail-coach  is  coupet," 
Sam'l  Filshie  remarked,  forcing  definiteness  into 
Whammond's  exclamation. 

"  I  had  a  terrible  dream,"  Mrs.  Warnock  came 
out  to  the  middle  of  the  road  to  say  —  she  had 
lost  her  temper  in  the  kirk  the  day  before 
because  her  man  had  not  joined  in  the  singing 
of  the  last  Psalm ;  but  no  one  had  patience 
to  listen  to  her  dream  with  the  beadle  yelling  — 
"  Come  on  wi'  your  spades  fast,  lads,  or  Maister 
Breckenridge  will  be  smoored." 

Seeing  he  was  understood  Carruthers  turned 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S    LEGACY 

and  retraced  his  steps  as  fast  as  such  an  im- 
possibility could  be  performed,  followed  by  a 
miscellaneous  band  of  armed  workers  headed 
by  Jeems  Warnock  and  Willie  Whammond. 
How  the  minister  had  got  into  this  trouble 
puzzled  them  much.  The  manse  stood  high, 
and  was  protected  on  the  windward  side  by  a 
mound  of  fir-trees.  Such  snow  as  had  whirled 
past  to  the  garden  wall,  had  been  mostly  dissi- 
pated by  the  high  wind  of  the  early  morning, 
so  that  the  manse  itself  suffered  little. 

After  an  early  breakfast  the  minister,  from  an 
upper  window,  looked  out  over  the  village  to 
see  how  it  fared  with  his  flock  —  they  were  busy, 
he  saw,  helping  one  another,  which  was  true 
Christian  work.  But  while  watching  their 
activity,  there  was  another  house  to  which  his 
mind  naturally  reverted,  less  safe,  because  more 
isolated  and  exposed,  and  that  was  the  small 
homestead  at  the  parish  march  occupied  by  his 
predecessor.  As  Providence  allowed  it,  at  that 
moment  he  saw  the  head  of  his  trusty  beadle 
rising  above  the  stile  on  the  east  wall  of  the 
glebe. 

Carruthers  had  been  busy  all  morning  cutting 
224 


A   CHAPTER   OF   ACCIDENTS 

an  outlet  from  his  own  door,  and  it  was  only 
after  the  job  was  done  that  he  thought  of  his 
late  master  and  his  helpless  family  of  women 
folk.  By  the  time  the  beadle  reached  the  manse 
the  minister  had  girded  on  his  leggings,  and  in 
a  few  minutes  the  former,  armed  with  a  spade, 
and  the  latter  with  a  shovel,  were  hurrying  along 
to  the  parish  march  on  their  mission  of  mercy. 
They  kept  the  lown  side  of  the  road,  which  was 
protected  by  a  matted  hedge.  On  the  other 
side  snow  was  piled  against  an  embankment  as 
high  as  the  kirk  gable.  The  plantation  on  the 
right,  so  well  known  to  them,  was  storm-beaten 
almost  out  of  recognition.  During  the  night 
the  wind  and  snow  had  pelted  the  trees  till  the 
upright  poles  assumed  enormous  girth,  one  part 
wood  and  three  parts  snow.  How  this  mys- 
terious element  had  transformed  the  landscape  ! 
All  familiar  landmarks  were  obliterated  —  dykes, 
hedges,  burns  were  muffled  and  undistinguish- 
able.  Even  the  loch,  with  its  fringe  of  reeds 
and  seggans,  was  swallowed  up  in  the  prevailing 
whiteness.  At  an  intersecting  loaning  a  great 
bar  of  soft  snow  had  got  impounded  while  the 
conflicting  currents  fought  for  supremacy. 
15  225 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

When  they  had  cut  their  way  through  this 
barrier  and  reached  the  turning  of  the  road,  the 
minister  gave  a  sudden  whistle  of  exclamation. 
The  cottage  in  which  the  aged  minister  and  his 
family  lived  was  situated  in  a  hollow,  below 
the  level  of  the  turnpike  road,  which  modern 
engineering  skill  had  made  up  to  save  gradients. 
The  space  between  the  road  and  the  front  of 
the  cottage  was  entirely  filled,  the  snow-wave 
not  seeking  pause  till  it  climbed  half-way  up 
the  roof.  It  was  probably  this  sight  that  per- 
turbed the  minister  and  made  him  incautious, 
for,  taking  a  false,  and  as  it  seemed  to  the 
beadle,  a  fatal  step,  he  stumbled  over  the  em- 
bankment and  disappeared  in  the  devouring 
abyss  beneath. 

This  was  the  occasion  of  the  beadle's  lament- 
able outcry  for  succour.  It  was  not  long  till 
willing  helpers  were  on  the  scene.  The  first 
thing  that  Sam'l  Filshie  did  was  to  fall  down 
the  slope  himself,  taking  the  drainer,  whose 
sleeve  was  within  reach,  along  with  him. 
Andra  Carruthers,  though  overwhelmed  at  the 
moment   by   this    additional    mishap,   declared, 

when  the  upshot  was  known,  that  it  "  wis  a  per- 
226 


A   CHAPTER   OF   ACCIDENTS 

feet  providence  o'  the  Almichty."  The  descent 
of  the  two  men  made  a  considerable  opening  in 
the  snow-wreath.  Moreover,  they  tumbled  on 
the  top  of  the  minister,  who,  overcome  by  cold, 
lay  unconscious  at  the  bottom.  Agitated  by  so 
much  healthy  and  militant  life,  the  yielding 
element  soon  gave  way,  and  left  Filshie  and 
Whammont  space  to  breathe.  They  lifted  the 
minister  between  them  till  his  head  was  above 
the  snow;  the  shock  he  had  received  by  their 
fall,  and  the  subsequent  handling  combined  with 
the  keen  fresh  air  soon  restored  consciousness, 
and  enabled  him  to  stand  on  his  own  feet. 

When  the  alarm  was  first  raised  that  the  min- 
ister was  smoored,  Davit  Winterbottom  the 
joiner,  who  was  reckoned  the  best  man  in  the 
parish  at  drawing  an  inference,  jaloused,  as  he 
said  to  Filshie  on  the  way  back,  that  Maister 
Breckenridge  had  fan  doon  the  Minister's  Brae; 
and  if  so  a  leather  micht  be  a  serviceable  thing. 
So  just  as  the  young  minister's  head  came  above 
the  snow  for  fresh  air,  Davit  and  his  apprentice 
appeared  at  the  bend  of  the  road,  carrying  the 
ladder  between  them.       The  opportuneness  of 

this  sight  was  recognized  by  a  cheer  from  those 
227 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

who  stood  by  communing  with  themselves  as  to 
how  the  men  were  to  get  out.  In  a  few  minutes 
by  the  aid  of  the  ladder  the  imprisoned  trio 
stood  on  the  road  among  their  neighbours,  little 
the  worse  of  their  immersion.  Meantime  the 
villagers  without  pause  attacked  the  unresisting 
snow  with  such  weapons  as  they  had  at  hand. 

While  this  work  was  going  forward,  the  minis- 
ter had  time  to  reconnoitre  and  think.  At  one 
end  of  the  cottage  roof  a  thin  wreath  of  smoke 
began  to  ascend  languidly.  He  had  remarked 
on  the  absence  of  smoke  a  moment  before  the 
accident. 

"  They  are  taking  hert,  sir,  and  mending  the 
fire,"  said  the  beadle;  "  no  doubt  they  will  hear 
by  this  time  that  wc  are  trying  to  howk  them  out." 

The  question  of  hearing  was  seriousi}'  trou- 
bling the  minister ;  they  probably  had  heard 
too  much.  He  was  afraid  that  the  alarm  as  to 
his  own  personal  safety  might  have  been  heard 
by  them  ;  his  voice  no  doubt  could  reach  and 
reassure  them  if  he  spoke  loud  enough,  but  the 
thought  of  shouting  to  the  empty  air  bordered 
on  comedy. 

"  Would   5'e   like  to    speir   if  they're  a'  richt 


A   CHAPTER   OF   ACCIDENTS 

inside?  "  inquired  Winterbottom,  with  the  ladder 
on  his  shoulder. 

"  The  very  idea  that  was  on  my  mind ;  but 
how  is  it  to  be  done?  " 

"  Oh,  easy." 

The  joiner  was  a  man  of  resource.  In  a 
couple  of  minutes,  by  the  aid  of  the  ladder,  he 
had  bridged  the  gleaming  gulf,  and  was  speak- 
ing down  one  of  the  smokeless  chimneys.  It 
was  some  time  before  the  ghostly  voice  reached 
the  inmates,  who  were,  at  the  moment,  gathered 
together  round  the  kitchen  fire  for  warmth. 

"Are  they  all  safe?  "  Mr.  Breckenridge  had 
a  lover's  impatience. 

"  I  havena  reached  them  yet." 

"Call  louder,  they — — "  the  minister  did  not 
proceed,  for  he  saw  from  the  attitude  of  his 
friend's  head  that  he  was  listening. 

"  They're  a'  richt,  sir,  but  they've  been  mor- 
tal anxious  about  yoursel'  —  they  heard  the 
beadle's  cries  when  ye  tumelt  owre  the  bank." 

"  Who  is  answering  you  ?  " 

"  Miss  Hazlet." 

"All  right;   if  you  come  down  and  hold  the 

ladder,  I  will  go  up  and  speak  to  her." 
229 


DOCTOR    CONGALTON'S    LEGACY 

The  household  had  never  had  serious  anxiety 
for  their  own  safety,  but,  as  the  joiner  reported, 
they  were  greatly  alarmed  about  the  accident 
which  they  knew  had  befallen  the  minister. 
VVinterbottom's  stentorian  voice  had  assured 
them  of  his  safety,  and  Hetty  returned  to  the 
kitchen  to  convey  the  news  to  her  parents,  leav- 
ing her  sister  to  listen  by  the  fireplace. 

"  Violet !  "  She  started.  Could  it  be  ?  —  yes, 
it  was  Mr.  Breckenridge's  voice.  The  name  was 
repeated  more  audibly. 

"  I  am  here.  Oh,  Will,  take  care ;  are  you 
much  hurt?" 

"  Not  at  all  hurt." 
"  Are  you  there  alone?" 

"  Yes,  the  joiner  is  at  the  other  end  of  the 
ladder.     Are  you  all  comfortable  inside?  " 

"  Quite  comfortable,  thank  you.  Oh,  Will 
dear,  it  is  so  kind  of  you  —  Here's  Hetty,  she 
thinks  it  so  awfully  good  of  you  and  the 
neighbours." 

"  Are  you  in  utter  darkness?" 
"  Oh,  no,  the  upper  half  of  the  back  windows 
are  clear  of  snow." 

"  Now  that    we    know  you    are  all    safe  and 
230 


A   CHAPTER   OF   ACCIDENTS 

in  comparative  comfort  the  situation  dawns  upon 
me  as  rather  funny  ;  don't  you  think  so?  " 

The  vibration  of  a  soft  musical  laugh  ascended 
the  chimney.     Was  it  Hetty's? 

Miss  Hazlet,  with  a  smile  in  her  reply,  ad- 
mitted that  it  was  "  certainly  a  little  odd." 

"  Advise  him  to  get  down,"  whispered  Hetty, 
"the  minister  sitting  on  the  rigging — it  is  too 
ridiculous." 

The  picture  to  the  imagination  of  the  girls 
was  more  grotesque  than  it  appeared  to  the 
sense  of  the  busy  workers  outside. 

"  Shall  I  speak,  Violet,  and  tell  him  to  get 
down?  " 

"  No,  please  don't,"  Violet  pleaded,  holding 
her  sister  back.  "  Think,  he  has  risked  his  life 
for  us.  He  would  be  offended  if  he  suspected 
we  were  laughing  at  him.     Will?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Do  you  think  it  will  take  long  to  reach  us?" 

"  Perhaps  an  hour,  the  drift  has  been  frightful. 

—  A  moment — "  he  said,  and  they  heard  his 

voice   travelling  through  the   clear,  thin   air  to 

some    one  at   a   distance.     "  It   is   the   post-lad 

from  Muirtown,"  he  resumed.     "  The  poor  fel- 
231 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

low  has  made  a  most  heroic  struggle.  The 
post-cart  was  utterly  useless ;  he  has  taken  five 
hours  to  get  over  the  three  miles.  There  is  a 
letter  for  Miss  Hetty.  Shall  I  take  delivery 
of  it?" 

"  Yes,  please." 

There  was  a  pause  during  which  the  sisters 
speculated  as  to  who  the  unexpected  corres- 
pondent might  be. 

"  Violet,"  from  the  chimney-top. 

"  Yes,  Will." 

"Is  Miss  Hetty  there?" 

"  Yes." 

"I've  got  the  letter;  it  is  in  a  literary  hand, 
and  bears  the  London  post-mark.  Shall  I  open 
it  and  deliver  its  contents  viva  voce  down  the 
chimney  ?  " 

Miss  Hazlet  clapped  her  hands  and  laughed. 
It  was  rare  of  Will  to  make  such  good  fun  for 
them  in  this  odd  situation. 

"  Please  don't,"  cried  Hetty,  looking  up  and 
seeing  a  good-natured  smiling  face  framed  in 
the  circle  above.  "  The  chimney  is  quite  wide 
—  look,  I  can  see  you.  It  will  be  perfectly  safe 
to  drop  it  down." 

232 


A   CHAPTER   OF   ACCIDENTS 

"  You  will  not  blame  me  if  it  miscarries  ?" 

"There  is  no  fear  of  that." 

"  It  may  be  very  important." 

"  I  will  risk  it." 

The  ridiculousness  of  the  situation  was  not 
so  apparent  to  Hetty  now.  The  letter  crunkled 
down  the  chimney  and  fell  at  her  feet — she 
recognized  the  hand.  Hetty  ran  off  to  her  bed- 
room, where  shortly  afterwards  Violet  found  her 
sitting  alone.  There  was  a  happy  light  in  her 
eyes,  but  the  face  was  thoughtful. 

"  Hetty,  dear,  have  you  good  news  ?  Who  is 
your  correspondent?  " 

Hetty  handed  her  the  letter  in  reply,  her  eyes 
the  while  unconsciously  reading  her  sister's  face. 
Miss  Hazlet  read  the  first  sentence,  then,  woman- 
like, turned  to  the  signature  — 

"  Mr.  Congalton  !  "  she  exclaimed,  and  the  sun- 
shine brightened  in  her  features  as  she  read  on. 
"  Hetty,  he  is  coming  to  renew  his  offer  of 
marriage,  and  to  ask  papa  to  let  you  be  his 
wife."  Violet  laid  down  the  letter,  took  the 
little  sister  in  her  arms,  and  kissed  her  with  true 
feeling.  Hetty  averted  her  face  to  hide  the 
starting  tears.  "  Do  you  not  love  him,  dear?  " 
233 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

"  Oh,  Violet,  after  what  I  have  told  you,  how 
can  you  ask?     It  is  not  that." 

"  I  know,"  said  Miss  Hazlet  sympathetically; 
"  but  it  is  different  for  him  now,  and  he  is  so 
lonely." 

"  There  is  still  the  will." 

♦'  Oh,  bother  that  absurd  will !  Is  Mr. 
Congalton  to  remain  unmarried  all  his  life,  or 
marry  some  one  he  cannot  love  because  of  a 
stupid,  capricious  will?  Has  he  not  already 
told  you  he  is  independent  of  his  brother's 
money?     You  do  not  treat  him  fairly,  Hetty." 

"Do  you  think  so,  Violet?  I  only  thought 
of  him.  You  do  not  know  how  good  and  clever 
he  is —  and,  oh,  how  unselfish." 

"  Then  give  him  the  reward  he  desires ;  he  is 
worthy  of  it,  according  to  your  own  showing. 
Let  me  see  — ,"  Violet  took  up  the  letter  again. 
"  He  expects  to  be  here  by  the  24th  or  25th 
at  latest.  The  letter  has  been  detained.  Hetty, 
he  may  be  here  to-day." 

Miss  Hazlet  returned  with  a  light  step  to  the 
kitchen,  and  broke  the  happy  news  to  her 
parents. 

The    aged    minister  and  his  wife  had  had  a 
234 


A   CHAPTER   OF   ACCIDENTS 

long  and,  on  the  whole,  a  happy  journey  to- 
gether. Their  respect  for  and  confidence  in 
each  other  had  never  wavered.  In  all  questions 
of  interest  affecting  his  daughters  you  might 
expect  the  father  to  say,  "  Well,  have  you 
spoken  to  your  mother  —  she  is  always  right  ?  " 
While  the  maternal  reply  would  run  on  similar 
lines — "  You  know  I  never  decide  anything  with- 
out consulting  your  father,  he  is  so  wise."  Now 
that  they  were  both  frail  and  reduced  to  limited 
means,  their  prevailing  anxiety  naturally  was 
for  the  future  of  their  girls.  It  is  but  truth  to 
say  that  an  intense  feeling  of  gratitude  filled 
their  hearts  as  they  saw  a  way  opened  up  in 
the  darkness  to  comfort  and  happiness  for  both. 
The  mother  sought  Hetty  in  her  room. 

Few  words  were  needed  to  reveal  the  con- 
dition of  her  daughter's  heart :  there  are  other 
ways  than  speech  known  to  women  in  ex- 
pressing sympathy.  They  held  each  other  in 
the  grasp  of  affection  till  arrested  by  a  loud 
knocking  at  the  outer  door,  which  was  opened 
by  a  frail,  white-haired  man  in  ministerial  garb. 

The  good-hearted  neighbours,  their  work  done, 
stood  respectfully  on  the  gleaming  road,  with 
235 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

the  implements  of  deliverance  on  their  shoulders, 
ready  to  depart.  In  tones  tremulous  with  emo- 
tion Dr.  Hazlet  thanked  them  for  their  timely 
deliverance.  Then  turning  to  his  successor  he 
shook  his  hand  warmly.  Behind  the  young 
minister,  however,  there  was  a  stranger  who 
was  not  personally  known  to  the  elder  man, 
waiting  for  admission  to  the  little  family  circle. 
Congalton  had  come  on  the  scene  under  un- 
conventional and  romantic  circumstances.  The 
letter  had  been  much  retarded  by  the  snow,  but 
not  the  lover. 


236 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

ISAAC   KILGOUR   ARRIVES   AT   A   DECISION 

Congalton'S  visit  to  Kilbaan  was  necessarily 
brief,  but  Hetty's  confession  to  her  mother  and 
sister  procured  for  him  a  cordial  reception,  and 
rendered  his  mission  an  easy  and  successful  one. 
There  was  great  political  disquietude  in  Peru, 
with  the  immediate  prospect  of  serious  trouble, 
for  the  Spanish  Government,  taking  advantage 
of  a  quarrel  between  some  Basque  emigrants 
and  the  natives,  in  which  many  lives  were  lost, 
took  forcible  possession  of  the  Chincha  Islands, 
and  Congalton  was  commissioned  by  the  Des- 
patch to  proceed  at  once  to  the  scene  of  action 
in  the  interests  of  that  enterprising  newspaper. 
It  was  arranged  that  his  marriage  with  Hetty 
should  take  place  on  his  return.  In  prospect  of 
this  new  relationship  his  affairs  had  to  be  recast 
and  put  in  legal  order.  A  visit  to  Mr.  Sibbald 
237 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

and  a  formal  meeting  with  his  brother's  trustees 

effected  this.     Broomfields  was  to  be  sold  or 

let;  and  as  he  would  now  have  to  live  entirely 

by  his  profession,  it  was  necessary  that  he  and 

his  wife  should  reside  in  London.      It  was  not 

without   a   secret   pang   of   regret   that    Hetty 

acquiesced  in  this  proposed  separation  of  herself 

from  her  family  and  the  scenes  and  friends  of  her 

early  years,  but  that  she  felt  was  nothing  in  the 

balance  against  the  sacrifice  he  was  making  for 

her.     These  important  matters  settled,  Congal- 

ton  bade  an  affectionate  good-bye  to  the  little 

household,  and  set  forth  with  a  light  heart  and 

fresh  hopes  on  his  eventful  mission. 

Snow  and  frost  with  iron  grip  held  undisputed 

possession  of  hill  and  vale,  loch  and  stream,  till 

the  last  week  in  February.     There  had  not  been 

such  a  severe  and  lasting  winter  within  living 

memory.       Between  dozing   in    his  chair   and 

reading  such  literature  as  fell  within  his  reach, 

consisting  of  odd  volumes  of  Tait's  Edinburgli 

Magazine,    Herdman's    Guide   to  Horticulture, 

seasoned    by   an   old    book   of   sermons,   Isaac 

Kilgour  crept  through  a  somewhat  somnolent 

and  enervating  season.     He  was  aware  that  the 
238 


ISAAC   ARRIVES  AT  A   DECISION 

master  had  gone  abroad,  and  that  Broomfields 
was  in  the  market.  This  information  had  been 
conveyed  to  him  and  Mistress  Izet  by  the  same 
post.  They  were  also  informed  that  Mr.  Con- 
galton  had  provided  a  small  annual  pension 
for  each  of  them,  to  be  remitted  in  quarterly 
payments  during  his  lifetime.  Meantime  they 
were  to  remain  at  Broomfields  as  heretofore, 
keeping  the  house  and  garden  in  order  till  the 
property  passed  to  other  hands.  Isaac  had  a 
dreamy  notion  in  his  mind  that  something 
would  have  to  be  done  in  the  ordering  of  his 
own  affairs,  but  as  the  place  was  not  yet  actually 
sold  there  was  time  to  dream  and  drift. 

With  the  advent  of  March  the  snow  dis- 
appeared before  the  influence  of  balmy  winds 
and  gentle  rain.  The  fearless  snowdrop  wagged 
a  defiant  head,  and  the  crocus  cleft  the  moist 
earth  and  opened  its  gleaming  petals  in  response 
to  the  gracious  but  tardy  smile  of  spring. 
Exercise  was  beginning  to  lubricate  the  joints 
and  remove  the  numbness  which  long  inaction 
had  produced  in  Isaac's  limbs.  All  morning 
he  had  been  digging  and  pottering  about  the 
rhubarb  roots  with  a  vague  feeling  of  appre- 
239 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

hension  on  his  mind.  About  ten  o'clock  he 
paused  with  a  foot  on  the  shoulder  of  the  spade 
which  he  was  about  to  strike  into  the  loamy 
earth.  His  dull  eye  seemed  riveted  on  the 
garden  hedge,  where  a  knitted  tracery  of  stems 
and  branches  sparkled  at  every  joint  with 
luminous  buds  of  rain.  He  was  not  considering 
this  poetic  aspect  of  nature;  his  activity  was 
arrested  by  hearing  rather  than  by  sight.  It 
was  the  approaching  jog  of  the  carrier's  cart  in 
the  ruts,  and  the  masterful  "hap-back  then  "  of 
the  carrier  himself  that  caught  his  ear.  This 
useful  functionary  had  made  an  early  start  that 
morning  from  the  county  town,  where,  the  day 
before,  Broomfields,  according  to  advertisement, 
was  to  be  exposed  for  sale.  Isaac  waited  with 
his  foot  on  the  spade  till  the  carrier  was  on  the 
other  side  of  the  hedge,  then  he  coughed.  He 
did  not  wish  to  show  his  feelings,  and  if  there 
was  bad  news  —  if  the  place  was  really  sold,  it 
might  be  as  well  that  he  should  hear  the  tidings 
while  he  himself  was  out  of  view. 

"  Is  that  you,  Isaac } " 

"Umph'm." 

"Come  to  the  yett,  I  have  nev/s  for  ye." 
240 


ISAAC   ARRIVES  AT   A   DECISION 

"  No,  I  dinna  want  Janet  to  hear,  cry't  owre. " 

The  horse  did  not  pause,  but  McLennan 's 
form  darkened  the  network  of  branches,  and 
gave  opaqueness  to  the  gems. 

"  Broomfields  was  knocket  doon  at  the  roup. " 

"Whatill.?" 

"Some  lawyer  body,  they  tell  me." 

"  Umph'm." 

This  was  all  the  news  Isaac  wanted,  and  the 
colloquy  ended.  The  gardener  resumed  his 
digging  with  furious  energy.  The  candle-maker 
made  boast  that  his  ideas  flowed  fastest  in  the 
kirk,  during  sermon  time,  but  Isaac's  were 
always  most  active  when  he  was  hard  at  work. 
Two  hours  later,  when  Mistress  Izet  came  to 
call  him  to  dinner,  there  was  a  bead  of  perspi- 
ration on  the  point  of  his  nose,  and  a  rim  of 
shifting  moisture  under  his  chin.  She  had  been 
cooking  the  dinner,  and  did  not  know  what  had 
perturbed  him. 

"Eh,  Isaac,"  she  remonstrated,  "ye' 11  be  hav- 
ing the  rheumatics  again,  slaving  yersel'  that 
gate.  Somebody  may  buy  the  place  that'll  no 
thenk  ye  for  yer  pains.      I  declare  ye  mind  me 

o'  a  wumman  in  Houston  parish " 

i6  241 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

But  Isaac  was  in  no  mood  to  hear  about  the 
additional  foolishness  of  this  old  friend  in  Hous- 
ton parish,  to  whom  he  was  supposed  to  bear 
some  resemblance.  He  plunged  the  spade  into 
the  soft  earth,  took  out  his  red  pocket-handker- 
chief, mopped  away  the  perspiration,  and  went 
up  the  stair  for  dinner.  Even  the  parrot  noticed 
that  he  had  a  disturbed  mind,  and  urged  him  in 
tones  that  seemed  to  imply  genuine  desire  to 
"  let  the  bruit  awa'." 

He  ate  his  lonely  meal  mechanically,  changed 
his  boots,  put  on  his  blue  Kilmarnock  bonnet, 
and  slipped  quietly  out  by  the  back  gate. 
There  was  a  loaning  skirting  the  plantain  which 
led  down  through  the  holm  to  the  river.  Isaac 
took  this  path,  crossed  the  stream  on  the 
stepping-stones,  and  ascended  the  brae  on  the 
other  side,  leading  to  the  manse.  About  half- 
way up  this  brae,  on  the  left,  there  was  a  small 
deserted  house  with  a  few  square  yards  of 
garden  ground  in  front.  This  space  was  pro- 
tected by  a  low  beech  hedge,  to  which  last 
year's  leaves  still  clung,  whispering  expressions 
of  hopefulness  to  the  timid  March  buds.     Isaac 

paused,   and   looked  long  and  wistfully  at  the 
242 


ISAAC    ARRIVES   AT   A    DECISION 

place.     The  door  was  weather-beaten,  and  had 

not  made  acquaintance  with  paint  for  many  a 

day.     There  was  one  red  chimney  can  at  the 

apex  of  the  gable,  but  the  irregular  embrasures 

round    the    top    showed    that    it    had    been   a 

tempting  target   for  the  school-boys    in   their 

destructive  leisure.     Some  of  the  missiles  had 

evidently  missed  the  higher  mark,  but  had  not 

altogether  been  thrown  in  vain,  as  the  glass  and 

astragals  of  the  window  plainly  set  forth.      The 

garden  plot  was  frouzy  and  fetid  with  decayed 

vegetation.     There  was  no  need  to  push  open 

the  gate  —  the  hinges,  wearied  and  worn  by  the 

irritating  and  unchecked  antics  of  the  wind,  had 

at  last  dropped  it  to  rot  amongst  the  mouldy 

undergrowth.     Although  Isaac  knew  the  place 

well,  he  stepped  up  to  the  window  and  looked 

in.     It  was  a  single  apartment,  with  an  earthen 

floor.     There  was  a  large  open  fire-place  with 

a  good  bobbed  grate,  a  dresser  and  a  cosy  set-in 

bed.      The  gardener  had  spent  many  a  couthie 

gloaming   hour  at  that   fire  end,    while   Betty 

Inglis  was  in  life.      Betty  held  the  tenure  of  this 

house  (being  on  glebe  ground)  in  virtue  of  her 

services  to  the  parish.     She  assisted  the  beadle 
243 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

in  the  menial  work  of  keeping  the  kirk  in 
order.  This  duty  had  originally  devolved  on 
his  sister,  but  having  married  a  tailor  she 
felt  above  such  servitude. 

For  many  years  Isaac's  matrimonial  thoughts, 
so  far  as  he  gave  them  play,  swayed  between 
Betty  Inglis  and  Janet  Izet.  Bet  was  a  rattling 
talker,  and  said  indiscreet,  albeit  entertaining 
things.  Her  notions  of  hospitality  were  talk  — 
continuous  talk.  To  Isaac,  who  did  little  to 
lighten  the  monologue  she  was  "gran'  company," 
when  the  leisure  of  the  evening  led  him  across 
the  stepping-stones.  Betty,  however,  was  at  rest 
up  yonder  on  the  other  side  of  the  kirkyard  wall, 
and  her  humble  abode  was  now  tenantless. 

The  gardener  heaved  a  sigh,  and  stepped  up 
the  brae  towards  the  manse.  The  doctor  was 
just  leaving  as  he  reached  the  door.  The 
minister  received  Isaac  kindly;  he  had  heard 
that  Broomfields  was  about  to  pass  into  other 
hands,  and  was  honestly  sorry  for  this  lone  and 
taciturn  man. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  come  to  tell  me  the 
news  about  the  sale,"  said  Mr.  Maconkey,  lead- 
ing the  way  into  the  study,  and  setting  a  seat 
for  his  visitor.  244 


ISAAC    ARRIVES   AT   A   DECISION 

"Pairtly,"  said  Isaac. 

"It  is  the  doctor  who  has  bought  the  place; 
he  has  just  called  to  tell  me  he  gave  his  agent 
instructions  to  attend  the  roup  and  bid  for  it. 
I  am  truly  grieved  for  you  and  Mistress  Izet  at 
having  to  leave  such  a  comfortable  home.  The 
doctor  tells  me  he  will  require  your  apartment 
for  his  own  coachman,  but  as  his  man  is  a  poor 
hand  at  garden-work,  he  may  be  able  to  give 
you  employment  now  and  then.  I  understand 
Mr.  Congalton  has  generously  given  you  both  a 
small  allowance  to  eke  out  a  livelihood.  Mis- 
tress Izet  will  repair  to  her  sister's  till  she 
gets  a  place,   I  suppose .''  " 

"Maybe,"  said  Isaac  curtly. 

"As  for  you,  perhaps  I  could  find  you  a  room 
with  some  of  my  people  —  William  Caughie 
or " 

"No,"  said  Isaac  with  decision  —  "I've  been 
owre  lang  by  mysel'  to  neighbour  wi'  William 
Caughie.  What  I  cam  to  speir  was  the  rent  ye 
micht  be  seekin'  for  Betty  Inglis'  bothie.-'  " 

"Good.  The  place  is,  beyond  contradiction, 
going  to  wreck.  You  are  welcome  to  it,  Isaac  — 
we'll  not  quarrel  about  the  rent." 

"  Na,  I  want  nae  back-spangs, "  Isaac  replied. 
245 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

"Oh,  well,  let  us  say  a  couple  of  pounds 
a  year;  or  better  still,  you'll  give  me  a 
few  days  during  springtime  in  the  manse 
garden." 

"  I'll  gie ye twa pounds,"  said  Isaac,  "but  let's 
niffer  aboot  the  garden-work  efter-hin." 

Isaac  stepped  out  into  the  fresh  afternoon 
air  with  new  hope.  He  knew  of  at  least  half- 
a-dozen  gardens  in  which  he  could  get  occa- 
sional employment,  with  the  prospect  of  ampler 
reward  than  was  likely  to  fall  to  him  from  his 
new  landlord. 

The  candle-maker  was  resting  on  the  parapet 
of  the  bridge,  conversing  with  the  carrier,  as 
Isaac  descended  from  the  manse.  The  former 
was  expatiating  to  the  latter  on  the  cleverness 
of  a  perambulating  radical,  named  Parlane,  who 
had  held  forth  to  the  villagers  the  night  before 
in  the  large  room  of  the  Wheat  Sheaf  inn. 
The  carrier  had  not  been  present,  but  he  knew 
something  of  the  man. 

"A  man  o'  great  pairts,"  Brough  had  desig- 
nated him  inconsiderately. 

McLennan  was  not  prepared  to  endorse  this 
eulogium  without  qualification,  but  admitted 
that  the  orator  was  a  "cool  haun.  Dod,  we 
246 


ISAAC   ARRIVES   AT   A    DECISION 

could  a'  speak  fine  if  oor  minds  were  cool,"  he 
said.  "Think  o'  the  ideas  that  pass  through 
yer  ain  head,  but  what  comes  o'  them  when  ye 
want  to  put  them  in  words?  A  cool  man's 
mind  is  just  like  that  pool  when  there's  no  wind. 
He  looks  into  it,  and  sees  the  ideas  just  as 
ye  can  look  into  the  watter  doon  there  and  see 
the  reflection©'  that  bank  wi'  the  crocuses,  thae 
bare  branches,  and  the  red  bricks  o'  the  bleach- 
field  wa'.  You  and  me  could  spout  lang  enough 
if  oor  heads  were  as  clear  as  that.  To  say  what 
ye  see  doon  there  is  as  plain  as  reading  't  oot  o' 
a  book,  but  wait  till  a  scuff  o'  win'  comes " 

"Man,  McLennan,  that's awfu' fine, "  cried  the 
candle-maker.  "The  scuff  o'  wind  aye  comes 
when  I  get  to  my  feet,  and  blots  oot  every 
deil-haet  I'm  gaun  to  say " 

The  discussion  was  interrupted  by  the 
gardener's  passage  over  the  bridge.  The  carrier 
had  told  Brough  about  the  sale  of  Rroomfields, 
and  now  Isaac  was  able  to  augment  the  informa- 
tion by  naming  the  purchaser.  The  three  men 
there  and  then  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the 
doctor  was  going  to  marry  the  governess,  as 
Mrs.  Lonen  had  said.      Under  the  stimulus  of 

this  fresh  theme  they  sauntered  up  the  road  as 
247 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

far  as  the  change-house.  McLennan's  sister 
was  out  delivering  parcels,  and  the  candle- 
maker's  wife,  owing  to  the  sudden  change  of 
weather,  was  confined  with  rheumatics,  so  there 
was  no  hurry.  The  carrier,  moreover,  was  a 
sympathetic  man,  and  wished  to  give  Isaac  a 
consolatory  dram. 

What  followed  later  in  the  evening,  while 
part  and  parcel  of  the  gardener's  plan,  would 
probably  not  have  taken  practical  shape  so  soon 
but  for  this  accidental  adjournment.  In  Kil- 
spindie  there  was  a  code  of  honour  in  connection 
with  treating  uniformly  observed  by  the  inde- 
pendent mind.  When  the  company  was  large 
this  was  fraught  with  danger  to  the  units  that 
formed  it.  Whatever  their  practice  might  be 
in  paying  off  other  forms  of  indebtedness,  in 
convivial  moments  the  debt  of  a  dram  was 
liquidated  on  the  spot,  by  a  dram  all  round. 
Though  this  company  was  not  large,  when  the 
darkening  fell,  it  proved  to  be  large  enough,  for 
as  the  two  men  got  to  their  feet,  and  Isaac 
essayed  to  follow,  it  was  found  he  had  lost  the 
use  of  his  legs.  His  mind  was  perfectly  clear, 
but  inebriation  had  paralyzed  his  nether  limbs. 
His  companions  assisted  him  up  the  brae,  and 
248 


ISAAC    ARRIVES   AT   A   DECISION 

told  Mistress  Izet  that  the  body  had  "taen  a 
dwam. " 

"Eh,  my,"  she  cried,  hooking  on  the  kettle, 
"I'll  no  say  but  he  has  got  his  death  o'  cauld, 
for  he  was  sweatin'  at  his  work  like  a  brock  the 
day.  Think  o'  tliat ;  and  the  place  sell't  to  them 
'at' 11  no  thenk  him  for  't.  Will  I  rin  for  the 
doctor? " 

"  Rin  for  the  doctor  nane, "  Isaac  commanded. 

"Na,  the  doctor  '11  be  here  sune  enough  to 
claim  his  ain  without  your  sendin'  for  him, "  said 
McLennan  —  thinking  of  the  purchase.  "  Get 
him  to  his  bed,  and  pit  a  het  jaur  fill's  feet." 

With  this  safe  advice,  the  two  men,  having 
discharged  a  neighbourly  duty,  withdrew. 

Isaac  sat  in  the  cosy  chair,  and  stretched  out 
his  gnarled  fingers  to  the  glowing  fire. 

"It's  a  peety, "  he  remarked,  as  he  watched 
the  housekeeper  filling  the  jar,  which  she 
corked  tightly  and  buried  at  the  foot  of  the 
kitchen  bed. 

"  What's  a  peety,  Isaac .''  " 

"That  I  canna  gang  up  to  my  ain  bed." 

"Dinna  fash  aboot  that,  ye' 11  be  as  weel  here." 

She  went  to  the    parlour  press,    took    out    the 

family  decanter,  which  had  not  been  unstopped 
249 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

since  the  funeral,  and  brewed  a  stiff  glass  of 
toddy.  "Noo,"  she  continued,  "drink  this  like 
a  man,  and  then  get  awa'  till  yer  bed." 

"And  what's  to  become  o'  you.?  " 

"I'll  sit  up  wi'ye.  It's  maybe  a  shock,  and 
ye' 11  need  hauns  aboot  ye." 

Isaac  smiled  grimly. 

"Janet,  ye'r  a  trumph, "  he  said;  "and  it's 
maybe  just  as  weel  I  hinna  the  power  o'  my 
legs,  or  I  michtna  bide  to  tell  ye  a'  at's  on  my 
mind.  I've  had  the  thing  often  at  the  root  o' 
my  tongue  afore,  but  I  aye  daunert  aff  or  it 
cam  to  the  bit.      Bring  me  a  gless. " 

"What  are  ye  wanting  wi'  a  gless.''  " 

"Never  mind;  bring't  here  and  sit  doon. 
Noo  ye  maun  tak'  the  big  hauf  o'  this  toddy 
yersel',  for  I've  had  three  drams  already ;  and  to 
tell  you  the  truth  —  the  honest  truth,  Janet  — 
I'm  leg-drunk." 

"Oh,  Isaac." 

"It's  true;    my   knees    are    like    some    auld 

macheen  that  has  wrocht  kina  jachelt;  but  my 

head's  richt  clear.      By  the  man,  I  never  crackit 

like  this  in  my  life  afore!"  he  cried,  cracking 

his  thumbs. 

"Then  it's  no  paralis.?" 
250 


ISAAC    ARRIVES   AT   A    DECISION 

"  Hoot,  woman,  paralis,  no.  I  had  the  same 
thing  on  the  nicht  o'  Willum  Ringin's  waddin', 
but  a  sleep  among  the  clean  strae  brocht  my 
legs  to  their  senses.  As  ye  ken,  I'm  no  used 
to  the  whisky;  but  the  carrier  and  the  candle- 
makker  meant  week  Janet,  I've  thocht  a  real 
heap  frae  first  to  last." 

"  Deed  have  ye,  Isaac,  and  I've  often  wonnert 
what  ye  were  thinking,"  she  said,  raising  her 
eyes,  while  her  lips  parted  modestly,  wondering 
what  was  to  come. 

"  And  I  have  as  often  jaloused  that  ye  kent. 
Janet,  it's  late  i'  the  day,  and  there's  no  use  o' 
us  palaverin'  like  young  folk.  We  have  been 
like  brithcr  and  sister  for  many  a  year.  Ye 
have  washed  for  me,  darned  and  clooted  for 
me,  made  my  bed  and  tidied  up  the  hoose,  but 
this  canna  gang  foret  langer  unless  ye  become 
my  wife.     What  do  ye  think  o'  that?  " 

"  Deed,  I  think  it's  a  gey  sensible-like  thing," 
she  replied  calmly. 

"  Then  that's  a  bargain,"  he  said,  wetting  his 
thumb. 

"It's  a  bargain,"  she  said,  putting  her  thumb 
to  his,  "  if  yc  dinna  forget  it  the  morn.  A  thing 
251 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

o'  the  kind  ance  happened  in  Houston  parish 
when " 

"That's  no  Hkely  noo,"  he  interrupted;  "the 
hoose  is  taen." 

"What  hoose?" 

"  Bet  Inghs'  bothie." 

"  Keep  and  guide  us,  did  ever  onybody  hear 
the  Hke  o'  that?     And  ye  never  let  on." 

There  was  no  sentiment  wasted  at  this 
betrothal.  They  drank  their  toddy,  and  had 
an  hour's  sensible  talk  about  ways  and  means, 
at  the  end  of  which  they  agreed  to  exchange 
beds  for  the  night.  Mistress  Izet  thoughtfully 
brought  the  lobby  bell,  and  placed  it  on  a  chair 
within  his  reach. 

"  Ring  it  lood,"  she  said,  "  if  ye  need  me," 
then  she  assisted  him  to  the  bedside. 

"  Efter  a',  Janet,"  said  Isaac,  with  a  twinkle  in 
his  eye,  "  it's  a  peety  ye  should  leave  yer  ain 
bed." 

"  Ye    auld    futar,"    she    cried,    with    a   laugh, 

seizing  the  candle  and  running  off  to  the  door. 

"I  micht  'a  sleepit  in  my  ain  bed  a'  my  days, 

and  you  in  yours,  gin  yer  legs  had  cam  hame 

sober." 

252 


CHAPTER   XIX 

nature's  nurturing  and  pairing  time 

The  wine-coloured  tassels  of  the  flowering 
currant,  as  yet  unaccompanied  by  leaves,  drooped 
healthily  under  a  gentle  rain.  Elm  and  chest- 
nut trees  were  bursting  into  leafage.  Even  the 
tardy  ash  was  awakening  under  the  pressure  of 
inward  nourishment,  but  there  was  not  a  shimmer 
of  green  as  yet  among  the  network  of  branches. 
Against  the  milky  back-ground  of  sky,  however, 
there  stood  forth  dark,  tightly-shut  fists  of  life, 
whose  fingers  would  unfold  by  and  by,  and  hold 
out  a  soft  palm-like  hand  to  the  sun  and  rain. 
The  brown  earth  of  the  fields  was  seen  as 
through  an  emerald  mist,  with  straight  lines  of 
deeper  green,  where  the  harrow-tooth  had  given 
strength  to  the  nurturing  soil.  For  weeks  the 
lark  had  been  heard  over  Coultarmains,  and  the 
cushet  was  already  pouring  forth  his  five  love- 
253 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

notes  in  Crosby  Glen.  It  was  nature's  replenish- 
ing and  pairing  time,  when  the  invisible  forces 
above  and  beneath  work  towards  summer;  and 
the  awakening  impulses  of  love  and  hope  begin 
to  stir  in  the  human  breast.  While  sitting  in 
his  own  pew  Willie  Mitchell's  eye  caught  Bell 
Cowie's  as  the  minister  proclaimed  for  the  first, 
second,  and  third  time  that  there  was  a  purpose 
of  marriage  between  Thomas  Maughan  and 
Lizzie  Colquhoun.  The  whole  congregation 
might  have  been  gazing  at  Bell  without  seeing 
anything  peculiar  in  her  glance  at  the  moment. 
The  congregation,  however,  was  not  in  love. 
The  magnetic  message  he  felt  was  for  him 
alone,  and  taken  in  conjunction  with  the  time 
and  circumstances  it  thrilled  him  into  such 
ecstasy  of  absent  -  mindedness  that  William 
Caughie,  thinking  the  young  man  had  got 
"  cauld  and  was  hard  o'  hearing !  "  touched  him 
on  the  shoulder  from  behind  with  his  horn 
specs,  and  whispered  reverently  that  the  text 
was  in  "  Matha  seeventh  and  fourt."  Mitchell 
mechanically  turned  up  the  passage,  but  heard 
nothing  of  the  elaborate  chastisement  which  the 
preacher  administered  to  his  flock.  The  young 
254 


NATURE'S  NURTURING  TIME 

farmer  had  frequently  met  Bell  since  that  fair- 
day  in  autumn,  when  she  incautiously  promised 
to  give  him  an  answer  in  a  twelve  months'  time; 
and  while  he  never  failed  to  show  that  his  re- 
gard for  her  was  as  true  as  ever,  he  kept  his 
conversation  on  the  honourable  side  of  the  com- 
pact. Bell  herself  was  rather  tired  of  waiting 
for  proposals.  The  utter  dearth  of  these  left  her 
already  biassed  mind  free  to  think  more  and 
more  of  the  one  open  to  her.  Protracted  think- 
ing on  one  subject  is  known  to  narrow  the 
mental  horizon,  but  in  this  case  the  affections 
went  arm-in-arm  with  meditation,  the  final  result 
being  that  the  only  male  person  seen  on  the 
horizon  was  Willie  Mitchell.  Her  mother  had 
contributed  in  a  kind  of  passive  way  to  this 
consummation.  Mrs.  Cowie's  aspiration  for  a 
marriage  with  Mr.  Congalton  had  undergone 
considerable  modification  since  the  death  of  his 
daughter.  She  did  not  know  of  his  engagement 
to  the  governess,  but  she  felt  that  his  removal 
abroad  and  the  subsequent  sale  of  Broomfields 
rendered  his  return  to  Kilspindie  exceedingly 
doubtful.  Since  he  had  resisted  all  her  own 
persuasive  skill,  the  library,  and  Bell's  charms, 
255 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

she  thought  it  unhkely  he  would  ever  marry. 
Consciousness  of  failure  left  her  gloomy  and 
reticent.  Bell,  meantime,  was  allowed  to  dream 
her  own  dreams,  and  nibble  the  sweet  cake  of  her 
own  knowledge  in  secret.  But  Mrs.  Cowie  could 
not  long  remain  in  ignorance  of  how  matters 
were  drifting  in  the  absence  of  competing  wooers. 
Her  daughter's  tell-tale  face  was  too  ingenuous 
to  conceal  her  feelings  when  her  lover  was  near, 
or  when  his  name  was  mentioned  in  her  hearing. 
Mitchell,  on  the  other  hand,  acting  on  Bell's 
advice,  was  always  on  his  guard  in  Mrs,  Cowie's 
presence.  Since  Congalton  had  eluded  her,  and 
no  other  star  was  in  the  firmament,  Coultarmains 
appeared  to  her  as  not  such  an  undesirable 
match  for  Bell.  But  what  if  he  also  was  grow- 
ing indifferent?  Men  could  not  be  trusted  for 
constancy.  She  sought  her  daughter's  confi- 
dence with  such  unwonted  kindness  of  manner 
that  Bell  told  her  all. 

"  And  ye  said  ye  would  gie  him  an  answer  in 
a  twelvemonths'  time." 

"Yes,"  whispered  Bell,  not  daring  to  lift  her 

eyes. 

"  That  was  richt  prudent  o'  ye." 

256 


NATURE'S   NURTURING  TIME 

She  recalled  the  proposal  Mr.  Sibbald  had 
made.  Probably  it  might  still  be  open  to  them 
to  accept  it.  If  so,  her  daughter  would  yet  have 
the  half  of  Dr.  Congalton's  money,  and  marry 
the  man  of  her  own  choice. 

"  Willie  Mitchell  is  a  vveel-principled  lad,"  she 
said.  "  It  is  true  your  edication  and  manners 
fitted  ye  to  be  ony  gentleman's  wife;  after  a' 
ye  may  perhaps  find  as  much  happiness  in  a 
farmer's  kitchen  as  in  a  gentleman's  ha'.  But 
haud  Willie  Mitchell  to  his  bargain  for  the  pre- 
sent, and  if  things  can  be  arranged  within  a  year 
he'll  maybe  no  have  to  wait  a'  that  time  for  his 
answer." 

Was  the  glad  light  that  flashed  in  Bell's  eyes 
from  the  front  seat  of  the  loft  the  offspring  of 
this  welcome  assurance  ?  The  interview  between 
mother  and  daughter  took  place  on  the  previous 
Saturday  afternoon,  and  had  left  behind  it  in  the 
girl's  heart  a  radiant  memory.  When  they  met 
after  sermon-time  Bell  was  bright  beyond  her 
usual,  and  winsomely  coquettish.  Mrs.  Cowie 
salutedtheyoung  farmer  with  uncommon  warmth, 
and  then  stepped  solidly  on  with  her  husband. 
Had  Mitchell  decreed  to  take  the  most  direct 
17  257 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

way  to  his  own  farm  he  would  have  passed  the 
road  leading  to  Windy-yett,  and  taken  the  next 
turning.  Indeed,  it  had  been  customary  for  Mrs. 
Cowie,  if  he  was  of  their  company,  to  stop  and 
practically  dismiss  him  here  with,  "  Weel,  ye'll 
be  steppin'  foret."  On  the  present  occasion, 
however,  the  farmer  and  his  wife  turned  into  the 
loaning  without  even  looking  round.  Mitchell 
thought  this  was  exceedingly  opportune,  for  he 
had  something  on  his  mind  to  say  to  Bell — a 
secret  it  was,  in  the  meantime  — the  disclosure  of 
which  might  lead  to  confidences  more  suited  to 
this  quiet  path  than  to  a  public  road  thronged 
with  home-going  friends  and  neighbours.  Bell 
paused  at  the  turning  with  a  testing  gleam  of 
humour  in  her  face. 

"  Na,"  he  said  seriously,  "  I'm  going  on;  I've 
something  to  tell  ye." 

"  Something  to  tell  me?"  she  inquired,  look- 
ing up  in  his  face  soberly  now.  "  Is't  some  ill 
news?  " 

"  Weel,  I  can  hardly  ca'  it  by  that  name." 

The    light    faded    in    Bell's    eye.      Was    he 

going   to    give    her  up?      Was    he    also  —  this 

indispensable   factor  in   her  life,  about  to   dis- 
258 


NATURE'S   NURTURING  TIME 

solve  into  a  shadow?  He  did  not  keep  her  long 
in  suspense. 

"My  sister  is  leaving  Coultarmains." 

"  Leaving — have  you  quarrelled?" 

"  Na,  she's  getting  merrit;  but  it's  a  secret 
yet." 

The  colour  returned  to  Bell's  lips,  and  her 
teeth  sparkled  as  she  replied  — 

"  Deed,  Willie,  I  thought  by  your  face  ye 
had  met  \vi'  some  misshanter.  Wha  is  she 
getting?  " 

Bell's  boarding-school  manner  and  speech 
came  and  went  with  circumstances.  A  homely 
farmer  liked  the  vernacular  best. 

"  Peter  Main,  the  teacher  at  Kingsford.  He 
has  been  seeking  her  for  a  while,  and  they  have 
settled  it  at  last;  it's  no  to  be  named  to  ony- 
body  for  a  month  yet." 

Bell  walked  on  a  short  space  in  silence.  But 
thought  is  rapid,  and  defiant  of  time.  Susie 
Mitchell  and  she  had  been  school-fellows  under 
Mr.  Lonen  at  the  parish  school.  Susie  was  little 
and  plain,  with  rather  a  sallow  complexion,  yet 
she  —  Susie  —  had  attracted  the  attention  of  an 
educated  man;  Peter  Main,  however,  had  dis- 
259 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

covered  qualities  in  his  sweetheart  that  were  to 
him  before  outward  comeliness  of  face. 

"And  when  is't  to  be?"  she  inquired  at  last, 
baffled  in  thinking  of  the  inscrutable  ways  of 
men. 

"  Lammas,"  he  replied.  "  It  will  be  gey  awk- 
ward for  me  wi'  the  hairst  just  beginning.  Bell, 
will  ye  let  me  put  foret  the  nock?  " 

•'  What  do  ye  mean?  " 

She  was  rather  a  shallow  young  person,  this 
Bell;  neither  mother-wit  nor  boarding-school 
education  had  taught  her  the  significance  of 
figurative  language. 

"  I  have  promised  no  to  speak  to  ye  of 
marriage  for  a  year,"  he  said,  "  and  I  would  have 
kept  my  word  even  in  the  changed  circum- 
stances, but  I  thocht  frae  the  glint  o'  yer  ee  as 
ye  looked  at  me  frae  the  laft  the  day,  that  ye 
micht  let  me  speir  your  answer  earlier." 

Bell  held  down  a  crimson  face  to  hide  its  joy. 

His  heart  was  still  true  to  her.     But  what  was 

this  had  taken  his  head  — this  "  glint  "  he  spoke 

of?    Had  she  revealed  prematurely  to  the  sharp 

eye  of  her  lover  the  transport  she  experienced 

at  her  mother's  altered  attitude  towards  himself? 
260 


NATURE'S   NURTURING  TIME 

"  Tell  me  this  ony-wye,  Bell,"  he  remarked, 
rather  desperately,  "do  ye  like  me  ony  waur 
than  when  I  first  spoke  o'  marriage  to  ye?" 

"No,"  she  replied,  with  emphatic  readiness  — 
"  far  better  !  " 

He  drew  a  long  breath  of  the  nourishing 
spring  air,  then  their  eyes  met. 

"  Bell,"  he  said  rapturously,  "  that's  gran' 
news  —  wi'  that  answer  I  could  maist  wait  oot 
the  year." 

They  were  nearing  the  farm  ;  she  laid  a  hand 
quietly  on  his  sleeve,  and  spoke  modestly  and  low. 

"  Ye'll  maybe  no  have  to  wait  sae  lang,  Willie. 
I'll  tell  ye  mysel'  when  the  time  comes,  but 
dinna  you  say  anither  word  till  I  gie  ye  leave." 

Mrs.  Cowie  and  her  husband  had  paused  at 
the  gable-end,  and  were  contemplating  with 
satisfaction  a  brood  of  raw-framed  turkeys  that 
had  come  into  being  during  the  preceding  week, 
when  the  young  people  came  up  flushed  and 
confused  with  their  love-talk.  Bell  ran  into  the 
house  at  once,  seeking  shade  from  both  outward 
and  inward  heat. 

"Will  ye  no  step  in  and  rest  a  minute  out  of 
the  sun?  "  Mrs.  Cowie  said,  in  her  most  engag- 
261 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

ing    manner.       "  I    declare    it's    like    a   day    in 
June." 

Mitchell  thanked  her,  but  gave  signs  of  pro- 
ceeding up  the  loaning.  His  heart  was  too 
palpably  in  his  face,  and  his  feelings  at  the 
moment  were  not  in  harmony  with  the  common- 
places of  farmyard  talk.  He  required  solitude, 
air,  and  largeness  of  prospect  to  encompass  this 
wealth  of  pleasurable  emotion.  He  was  scarce 
out  of  earshot,  so  incomprehensible  are  the 
antics  of  lovers,  when  he  commenced  to  whistle 
a  psalm  tune  to  unreasonably  quick  time.  The 
leafy  hollows  of  Endrick  wood  were  vocal  with 
the  liquid  notes  of  a  wooing  blackbird,  but  the 
grey  lark  of  love  in  his  own  welkin  was  drown- 
ing all  other  sounds  with  palpitating  melody. 
Further  on  he  put  his  right  hand  on  the  top  of 
a  double-barred  gate,  and  leaped  over  with  the 
agility  of  joyous  health.  Before  him,  at  the 
other  side  of  the  field,  stood  Coultarmains. 
The  old  steading,  with  the  fleecy  column  of 
smoke  above  the  kitchen  chimney,  and  shel- 
tered by  the  protecting  arm  of  a  bourtree 
hedge,  seemed  already  to  smile  with  the  radiant 
presence  of  Bell. 

262 


CHAPTER  XX 

FATEFUL   INTELLIGENCE 

On  the  morning  of  the  day  on  which  Isaac 
Kilgour  and  Janet  Izet  entered  their  humble 
dwelling  on  the  glebe  land  as  man  and  wife, 
Richard  Covvie,  dressed  in  his  Sunday  clothes, 
drove  through  the  village  on  his  way  to  Airtoun. 
His  object  was  to  induce  Mr.  Sibbald  and  Dr. 
Congalton's  trustees  to  revert  to  the  arrange- 
ment which,  a  few  months  before,  his  wife  had 
instructed  him  to  decline.  For  days  he  had  been 
irresolute  about  the  journey.  He  had  even  con- 
fided his  doubts  to  the  smith,  who  agreed  with 
him  that  the  plan  could  not  now  be  carried 
through  in  Mr.  Congalton's  absence;  but  Mrs. 
Cowie  held  that  a  majority  of  the  "  daers  "  was 
sufficient  to  settle  the  matter,  and  the  stronger 
will  at  length  prevailed.     No  one,  however,  was 

prepared  for  the  news  which  Windy-yett  brought 
263 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

back  with  him  in  the  evening.  He  blurted  it 
out  in  a  sentence,  as  his  steaming  horse  paused 
for  an  instant  at  the  smithy  door.  The  candle- 
maker  was  at  a  funeral  in  a  neighbouring  parish, 
and  was  not  there  to  hear ;  then  he  extended  it 
more  respectfully  to  Mr.  Lonen,  whom  he  saw  on 
the  other  side  of  the  hedge,  as  the  horse  zig- 
zagged leisurely  up  the  brae.  "  It's  most  mortal 
a'-thegether,"  the  smith  had  exclaimed,  striking 
his  thigh.  The  school-master  struck  his  spade 
deeply  into  the  earth  as  a  specific  mark  of  ex- 
clamation; uttered  some  phrases  of  academic 
horror,  and  ran  out  the  back  way  to  convey  the 
news  to  the  manse.  Disregarding  the  ruts  in 
the  loaning,  Cowie  sped  on  to  Windy-yett  at  a 
pace  reckless  of  springs  and  wheels,  and  casting 
the  reins  to  the  "  orra "  man,  jumped  to  the 
ground  and  made  hurriedly  for  his  own  door. 

"  Lord  keep  us,  Ritchie,  have  ye  been  drink- 
ing? "  cried  his  wife,  whose  portly  presence 
entirely  filled  the  space  he  essayed  to  enter, 
casting  her  eyes  the  while  from  his  feet  to  his 
flushed  face. 

"  Congalton's    droont,"    he    exclaimed,  disre- 
garding the  unjust  insinuation. 
264 


FATEFUL   INTELLIGENCE 

"Droont,"  she  reiterated,  her  human  heart 
getting  the  better  of  all  selfish  considerations. 
'•  Lord  preserve  us,  Ritchie  Cowie,  are  ye  telling 
the  truth?  Puir  man!  How  cam  ye  by  sic 
news?  " 

"  Weel,  ye  see,  when  I  gangs  owre  to  Airtoun 
I  finds  Mr.  Sibbald  in  a  bonny  wye.  He  was 
gaun  oot  in  a  gey  hurry.  '  Excuse  me,'  says 
he,  '  tell  your  business  to  my  clerk,  for  I  have 
just  received  news  of  poor  Congalton's  death.' 
'  Death  !  '  quoth  I,  but  before  the  word  had  richt 
left  my  tongue  he  was  roun'  the  corner." 

"  Save  us  —  and  did  you  tell  your  business  to 
the  clerk?" 

"  Na,  no  likely.  I  said  I  had  come  to  speir  for 
Mr.  Congalton,  but  his  maister  had  directed  me 
to  him  for  particlars." 

"  My  sang!  that  was  wisely  dune  —  ye  never 
did  a  better  thing.     Weel?  " 

"  '  Oh  !  '  says  he,  '  there's  no  particlars.  The 
telegram  cam  frae  the  newspaper  office  only  an 
hour  syne — here  it  is — "  Congalton  drowned,  let- 
ter and  newspaper  following  with  fuller  news." 

"And  wi'  that  ye  left?" 

"Wi'  that  I  left,"  he  said. 
265 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

Mrs.  Cowie  returned  to  the  dairy  to  make  up 
the  butter,  and  her  husband  retired  to  divest 
himself  of  his  Sunday  clothes.  Her  feelings 
were  so  mixed  that  she  did  not  care  just  then  to 
reveal  them  even  to  her  husband.  Nan  Pinker- 
ton's  forecast  of  news  from  the  sea  had  proved 
true.  She  tossed  and  slapped  the  butter  into 
prints  mechanically.  Her  mind  reverted  to  their 
last  interview  after  his  daughter's  death.  He 
was  pale  and  thoughtful,  but  "  ceevil  spoken 
by-ord'nar."  She  remembered  how  he  was 
dressed,  and  how  the  bonny  diamond  ring  on 
his  finger  sent  glints  of  light  through  the  room 
as  he  moved  his  hand.  "  That  too  would  gang 
to  the  bottom  wi'  him;  maybe  his  body  would 
yet  be  found  "  —  she  was  thinking  half  aloud  — 
"  but  thae  heathen  black  folk  would  never  send 
hame  a  valuable  thing  like  that.  Droont !  "  she 
said  audibly,  "  puir  man ;  and  Bell  micht  have 
been  a  widow.  I  was  gey  headstrong  to  get  her 
married  to  a  gentleman,  but  I'll  never  mislippen 
Providence  again." 

The  sad  news  soon  found  its  way   to    every 

ear    in    Kilspindie.      The    smith    went   across 

and  told  it  to  the  candle-maker  on  his   return. 
266 


FATEFUL   INTELLIGENCE 

Tinny  Walker,  seeing  the  solemn  crack  and  the 
long  faces  from  his  corner  window,  left  his  solder- 
ing-bolt  in  the  fire  and  hurried  to  the  Brig-end. 
Jimsy  Waugh  heard  it  when  he  came  over  from 
Millend  for  threepence  worth  of  dips.  M'Aull 
the  twister,  and  William  Caughie  were  busy 
setting  a  new  web,  when  Mrs.  Caughie,  who  had 
been  "  owre  the  gate  strauchtin  Nancy  Beedam's 
hindmost  bairn,"  came  in  and  told  them  some- 
thing was  "  gaun  through  hauns  "  at  the  Brig- 
end.  And  so  the  neighbours  gathered,  "  speired," 
and,  for  a  space,  speculated,  then  hurried  home- 
ward to  break  the  monotony  of  their  uneventful 
lives  with  this  fateful  news. 

"  That'll  be  gey  sair  bit  to  the  pair  on  the 
kirk  brae,"  Zedie  Lawson  remarked  to  his  wife 
when  they  had  mastered  composure. 

"  Ser'  them  richt,"  she  replied  unfeelingly; 
"them  that  could  belittle  their  ain  relations. 
They  were  unco  big  aboot  their  allooance,  but 
they'll  maybe  no  carry  sic  a  high  head  noo." 
These  remarks  referred  to  Isaac  Kilgour  and  his 
wife.  Mrs.  Lawson  being  the  senior,  wished  to 
see  her  sister  married  "  wice-like  under  her  ain 
roof"  Isaac,  however,  did  not  like  her  officious 
interference.  He  bore  it  for  a  time,  but  kept 
267 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

his  own  counsel  till  the  banns  were  proclaimed, 
Mrs.  Lawson  believed  in  a  Friday's  marriage. 
She  would  draw  upon  Janet's  savings  for  such 
"  needfu'  deeding  "  as  Zedie  and  she  required, 
and  make  an  appropriate  feast.  Isaac  never  let 
on,  but  secured  the  services  of  the  carrier  and 
his  sister,  went  up  to  the  manse  on  the  Tuesday, 
and  returned  with  his  wife  to  their  own  small 
house  on  the  brae  for  a  "  touzie  tea." 

Zedie  sat  for  a  minute  with  his  mouth  pursed 
as  if  whistling  a  tune,  not  yet  having  forgot  the 
slight  that  had  been  put  on  them. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "cock  them  up  wi'  an  alloo- 
ance.  They  canna  think  that  we'll  be  vexed  for 
them,  for  they  did  a  real  illset  thing." 

A  copy  of  the  London  paper  came  in  due 
course.  The  notice  of  the  striking  event  it  con- 
tained was  copied  into  the  local  weekly  news- 
paper. It  told  that  the  brig  Minerva,  of 
Panama,  sailed  from  that  port  on  Sunday,  Feb- 
ruary 28,  under  the  command  of  Captain  Pierre 
de  Linkskie,  with  a  cargo  of  oil  and  canvas  for 
Callao.  Her  burthen  was  about  114  tons.  The 
crew  consisted  of  seven  persons,  including  the 
captain  and  his  son,  a  boy  twelve  years  old. 
She  also  carried  a  passenger  named  Congalton, 
268 


FATEFUL   INTELLIGENCE 

a  representative  of  an  English  newspaper.  At 
three  o'clock  on  the  Monday  morning,  a  week 
after  their  departure,  they  were  forced  to  heave 
to  in  a  gale  of  wind.  Lying  under  close-reefed 
maintop-sail,  and  balanced  reefed  mainsail,  a 
heavy  sea  struck  the  vessel  and  she  suddenly 
capsized,  turning  completely  over  bottom  up. 
The  only  person  on  deck  at  the  time  was  the 
mate,  named  Bradford,  who  was  instantly  en- 
gulphed  in  the  ocean,  but  on  coming  to  the 
surface  he  was  fortunate  in  getting  on  some 
floating  wreckage.  Supporting  himself  in  the 
lee  of  the  wreck,  he  passed  the  night  and  most 
of  the  next  day,  when  in  the  afternoon  a  small 
coasting  steamer  hove  in  sight,  and  he  was 
taken  on  board.  They  passed  a  hawser  to  the 
Minerva  and  took  her  in  tow,  but  during  the 
next  night  the  gale  freshened,  the  tow-line  had 
to  be  cut,  and  the  wreck  was  left  to  the  mercy  of 
the  sea. 

"  Mr.  Congalton,"  continued  the  Despatch, 
"  whose  untimely  fate  we  regret  to  announce, 
was  one  of  the  most  reliable  and  energetic  of 
journalists.  His  experiences  as  our  war  corre- 
spondent were  recently  given  to  the  world   in 

book  form.     He  went  out  to  Peru  as  our  special 
269 


DOCTOR  CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

commissioner  to  watch  over  events  in  connec- 
tion with  the  rupture  between  the  Spanish  Gov- 
ernment and  the  South  American  RepubHc,  and 
landed  safely  at  Colon,  but  missing  the  mail 
steamer  at  Panama  he  evidently  took  passage 
on  board  the  ill-fated  Minerva.  He  was  a 
man  of  kindly  nature,  infinite  resource,  and 
unbounded   courage." 

The  candle-maker  and  the  carrier  got  the  local 
weekly  between  them  at  a  reduced  rate,  when 
it  was  four  days  old.  Zedie  Lawson  borrowed 
it  and  read  the  account  of  the  incident  to  his 
wife.  After  the  wedding  she  had  made  up 
her  mind  never  to  darken  her  sister's  door  again, 
but  the  resolve  gave  way  —  not  on  the  side  of 
magnanimity. 

"  I'll  step  owre  this  meenent,"  she  said,  "  and 
read  this  to  the  pensheners."  She  went  out  and 
had  gone  as  far  as  the  manse  when  something 
occurred  that  altered  her  intention,  so  she 
stepped  up  and  called  on  Mrs.  Caughie  instead. 

Mrs.  Caughie  was  a  tall  woman  with  a  stoop 
in  the  shoulders.  She  was  reckoned  very  "skilly 
in  weans'  troubles,"  could  "  greet"  with  the  best, 
and  was  indispensable  when  there  was  a  death 
in  the  house.  In  the  main  she  was  a  helpful 
270 


FATEFUL   INTELLIGENCE 

woman  to  the  neighbours.  Her  manner  was 
funereal,  and  she  spoke  with  a  "  sneevel."  Mrs. 
Caughie  occupied  a  higher  platform  than  Babby 
Lawson,  because  her  husband  was  an  elder  and 
Zedie  Lawson  was  not.  The  latter,  moreover, 
was  but  a  gingham  weaver,  while  William  wove 
gauze.  Still,  Babby  Lawson  had  the  assurance 
to  go  into  any  society  when  she  had  news  to  tell. 
The  incident  that  had  diverted  the  latter  from 
her  purpose  was  that  as  she  went  round  by  the 
kirk,  the  governess,  dressed  in  mourning,  alighted 
from  a  carriage  that  had  driven  her  to  the 
manse  brae,  and  "sailed  doon  "  to  her  sister's 
bothie. 

"  Dressed  in  mournings,  said  ye?  "  inquired 
Mrs.  Caughie,  with  so  much  interest  that  she 
upset  the  cog  on  her  lap  into  which  she  was 
grating  potatoes  to  make  starch  for  her  hus- 
band's linen. 

"  Ay,  dressed  in  mournings,"  she  replied. 

"Was  it  deep?" 

"  No  dead  deep  —  a  black  gown,  a  bonnet  wi* 
a  bit  crape,  and  a  black  veil." 

"  Did  ye  no  follow  and  get  the  news  — she'd 
have  something  to  tell?  " 

271 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

"  I  didna  need  nae  news ;  the  paper  here  tells 
a'  that's  ever  likely  to  be  kent." 

"  Ay,  woman,  William  was  reading  that.  It's 
a  sad  story.  To  think  he  hadna  an  hour  to  mak' 
peace  wi'  's  Maker.  It's  said  he  never  darkened 
a  kirk  door,  and  that  he  wrote  godless  stories 
and  things  on  the  Sabbath  day.  It's  like  a 
judgment,  but  there's  maybe  some  private  mes- 
sage ;  the  governess  wouldna  drive  a'  the  way 
here  for  nothing.  Ye  should  have  followed  in, 
woman ;  but  I  suppose  you're  no  great  wi' 
your  sister.  Did  she  no  speir  ye  to  the 
marriage  ?  "  Mrs.  Caughie  had  heard  Lexy 
McLennan's  version  of  that  story,  but  wanted 
to  get  it  from  the  other  side. 

"  Marriage !  "    she    replied,    in    a   tone    that 

showed  how  strong  her  feelings  were,  "  did  ever 

ye  ken  the  like  o't?     To  think  that  they  should 

march  up  to  the  manse  wi'  the  carrier  and  his 

sister,  when  they  had  the  hoose  o'  a  near  relation 

to  get  married  in  —  I  feel  black  affrontit."     Mrs. 

Caughie's    knotted    fingers  were  busy  with  the 

grater.     "  I'm   tauld    it  was  that  dour  ettercap 

Isaac,  but,  my  certie,  he'll  no  carry  sic  a  high 

head,  noo  that  the  allooance  is  stopped." 
272 


FATEFUL   INTELLIGENCE 

"Isaac's  a  queer  craitur,  and  has  wyes  o'  his 
ain,"  was  Mrs.  Caughie's  guarded  reply. 

"What  are  ye  saying  aboot  Isaac?  "  inquired 
the  gauze  weaver,  coming  in  with  stealthy  step, 
his  thin  nose  shining  like  a  cameo  under  the 
pinch  of  the  fresh  wind. 

"We  were  just  talking  aboot  the  deplorable 
end  o'  his  late  maister,  and  aboot  his  and 
Janet's  allooance  being  stopped." 

"  Allooance, "  he  reiterated,  "  they're  better  off 
than  ever.  Miss  Hazlet  has  been  owre  to  Kil- 
spindie  wi'  a  message  from  Mr.  Sibbald  to  say 
that  Mr.  Congalton  has  pensioned  them  baith 
for  life  in  his  will." 

Mrs.  Caughie  gazed  at  her  husband  with  a 
doubtful,  questioning  look. 

"But,  William,  didna  the  minister  tell  ye  the 
doctor's  siller  would  gang  to  the  Cowies  if  he 
dee't.'" 

"  So  he  did,  but  the  man  had  siller  o'  his  ain. " 
William  pushed  the  horn  specs  above  his  eye- 
brows, walked  to  the  ben  part  of  the  house,  and 
settled  down  to  his  loom.  Was  he,  an  elder  of 
the  kirk,  going  to  "palaver  wi'   a  backsliding 

clypin'  woman  like  Babby  Lavvson  —  no  like." 
18  273 


CHAPTER    XXI 

SETTLEMENTS 

Peter  Main,  the  teacher  at  Kingsford,  was 

over  at  Coultarmains,  spending  the  week  end, 

and   had   to   make   an  early  start   on    Monday 

morning  to  be  in  the    school  at  ten.       Willie 

Mitchell  having  a  commission  from  his  sister 

took  down  his  gun,  put  the  powder  flask  in  his 

pocket,  and  convoyed  him  as  far  as  Moorburn 

Toll.     There  was  a  dewy  freshness  in  the  fields. 

A    soft    rain    was    falling   with    gracious    and 

reviving  gentleness.     Over  the  near  landscape 

there  seemed  to  come  a  sough  of  bursting  life  — 

a  sensible    stirring  of    summer   energy  in  the 

misty  greenery  of  wood  and  lane.     Mitchell  on 

his  return,  was  tempted  off  the  highway,  and  got 

a  couple  of  rabbits  while  rounding  the  upper 

shoulder  of  Ferleigh  Glen.     The  rain  had  ceased 
274 


SETTLEMENTS 

by  this  time,  and  the  sullen  canopy  overhead 
parted  revealing  spaces  of  azure,  from  one  of 
which  the  sun  made  sudden  emergence,  giving 
gem-like  radiance  to  the  raindrops  on  the  grass. 
He  mounted  the  stile  and  took  the  mossy  foot- 
path through  the  wood.     The  sun  was  shining 
warmly  now  on  the   blossomed   gorse;    spruce 
and  larch,  with  dripping  tassels  of  tender  green, 
spread  their  protecting  fan-like  branches  above 
him,  cooling  the  air  with  their  graceful  motion. 
The  path  was  strewn  with  the  ripe  brown  fruit 
of  the  fir.      On  either  hand  daffodil,  primrose, 
and  may-flower  held  up  prophetic  heads  with 
morning   freshness.       An    early  starling    with 
a  lobe  of  the  earlier  worm  swinging  from  its  bill 
ran  defiantly  across  his  path,  eagerly  regarded 
from    above    by   the    expectant    brood.       But 
neither  beast  nor  bird,  flower  nor  tree,  engaged 
his  thoughts.      He   was  thinking  soberly  just 
then,   what   a   change   it   would   make  for  him 
when    Susie  went  down  to    the    school-house. 
His  step  grew  more  elastic  and  a  light  came 
into   his    eyes,    for   his   thoughts    had    darted 
forward  under  the  quickening  influence  of  hope. 
Bell    loved   him,   and   had  spoken  encouraging 
275 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S    LEGACY 

words  —  but  he  must  wait.  His  lengthening 
step,  impelled  by  the  energy  of  health,  carried 
him  swiftly  down  the  mossy  slope  to  the  high 
arched  bridge,  under  which  the  black  water 
from  the  upper  moorland  was  increasing  its 
pace  for  a  leap  over  the  linn.  F'urther  down, 
this  hissing  and  plashing  flood  filled  the  branchy 
chasm,  then  plunged  into  the  rocky  caldron 
beneath.  Thus  dreaming  with  bent  head,  and 
the  gun  barrel,  upon  which  he  had  slung  the 
rabbits,  on  his  left  shoulder,  he  reached  a  sudden 
turning  of  the  path  where  the  road  dips  deeper 
into  the  glen.  Was  there  human  magnetism  in 
the  air.^  His  dreams  gave  place  to  the  con- 
sciousness of  a  living  presence.  Behind  the 
dripping  branches  of  a  bonny  broom,  golden 
with  blossom,  he  caught  sight  of  the  swaying 
drapery  of  a  fresh  print  gown,  and  ere  he  knew, 
he  was  face  to  face  with  eyes  that  widened  with 
welcome,  and  unmistakably  glad  lips  that  smiled. 
"  Bell, "  he  exclaimed,  his  own  heart  leaping  to 
his  eyes  with  answering  joy.  At  the  same 
moment  she  cried,  "Willie,"  and  both  expres- 
sions meant  the  same  thing  —  unspeakable,  un- 
expected pleasure.  Bell  had  no  need  to  be 
276 


SETTLEMENTS 

admonished  to  smiles  now,  for  love  itself  brings 
the  best  expressions  of  beauty  to  the  face. 

"Whare  have  ye  been  so  early?  " 

"The  ploughman's  ill,"  she  replied.  "I  was 
doon  at  Glenside  speirin'  for  him.  Your  a  guid 
bit  oot  o'  your  ain  gate." 

"  I  was  convoying  Peter  Main  a  piece,  and 
then  I  took  a  turn  round  by  Ferleigh  to  get  a 
couple  o'  rabbits  for  Susie  —  she's  aye  at  a  loss 
for  Monday's  denner. " 

Bell  was  looking  up  at  him  with  admiration, 
this  tall,  weather-bronzed  giant  with  the  happy 
hungering  eyes.  Something  in  her  look  en- 
couraged him. 

"Bell,"  he  said  with  subdued  rapture  in  his 
voice,  "I  never  saw  ye  looking  sae  bonny." 
She  struck  him  playfully  on  the  arm  with  her 
small  empty  basket,  lighter  now  for  her  visit  to 
the  ploughman's  bothie,  and  turned  aside  her 
head  to  hide  the  increasing  colour.  "  I  wish  —  " 
her  happy  eyes  were  back  to  his  face  expectantly. 

"What  d'ye  wish.-*"  she  inquired  encourag- 
ingly. 

"  Oh,  there's  no  use  wishing, "  he  replied ;  "  I 

maun  be  patient,  my  lips  are  sealed." 
277 


DOCTOR  CONGALTON'S  LEGACY 

"  Willie,"  she  said  solemnly,  then  pausing— the 
situation  was  delicate.  She  plucked  a  spray  of 
broom  and  commenced  to  undo  the  patient 
efforts  of  nature,  by  pulling  the  golden  blossoms 
to  pieces.  Her  face  was  rather  serious,  and  the 
long  brown  eye-lashes  seemed  to  be  lying  on 
her  cheek  from  excess  of  modesty.  But  she 
drew  heart  of  grace,  his  lips  were  sealed,  but 
hers  were  not.  "  Willie,"  she  repeated,  as  if  the 
liquid  syllables  afforded  her  pleasure,  "  I  told 
you  it  might  not  be  so  long  —  and  —  I  would  let 
you  know  when  you  might  speak." 

"  Yes,"  he  said  eagerly,  "  weel .'  —  weel  ?  " 

She  was  contemplating  the  bottom  of  her 
basket  now. 

"  If  ye  are  still  o'  the  same  mind  —  I  ■ —  I  — 
think  ye  might  speak  to  father  and  mother  now. " 

"And,  Bell,"  he  had  taken  both  her  hands  in 
his,  "are  ye  sure  what  their  answer  will  be.-'  " 

"  I  think  the  answer  will  be  —  yes,"  she  said. 

When   Mitchell  returned   to    the   farm,    his 

porridge   was    cold;    and   Bell's    mother    saw 

plainly    that    some    happy    circumstance    had 

"  taigled  "  her  daughter  by  the  way. 
278 


SETTLEMENTS 

Mrs.  Cowie  had  not  been  idle  since  the  news 
of  Mr.  Congalton's  fate  reached  Kilspindie. 
After  a  reasonable  pause  she  had  herself  driven 
over  to  Airtoun  to  find  out  their  rights  from 
Mr.  Sibbald.  The  lawyer  admitted  that  her 
daughter's  claims  on  the  late  Dr.  Congalton's 
estate  were  absolute.  He  was  preparing  a  state- 
ment, which  would  be  laid  before  the  trustees 
probably  by  Martinmas,  or  as  soon  after  that 
date  as  possible.  It  was  not  to  be  thought  of, 
however,  that  she  would  leave  Bell's  affairs 
entirely  in  the  hands  of  men  who  for  aught  she 
knew,  might  in  spite  of  the  minister's  assurance, 
help  themselves  freely  to  her  daughter's  money. 
Accordingly,  like  a  woman  of  prudence,  she 
engaged  a  solicitor  and  directed  Mr.  Sibbald  to 
account  to  him.  In  the  next  place,  she  took 
Bell  into  her  confidence  and  told  that  young 
lady  frankly  of  her  fortune.  That  it  all  legally 
belonged  to  herself,  but  that  morally  she  and 
her  husband  had  certain  claims  on  it  for  her 
upbringing,  her  expensive  education,  etc.,  which 
claims,  the  heiress  frankly  admitted,  "There  will 
be  enough  efter-hin  to  mak  ye  a  catch  for  the 
best  gentleman  i'  the  land,  or  for  that  matter,  to 
279 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

makye  independent  o'  men  a'  thegether. "  Bell 
had  been  led  to  believe  that  her  own  natural 
attractions  were  sufficient  to  bring  gentlemen  of 
birth  and  education  to  her  feet,  but  so  far  they 
had  failed  to  come.  Moreover,  she  had  no  wish 
to  occupy  the  proud  position  of  being  altogether 
independent  of  a  man.  In  her  then  frame  of 
mind,  she  did  not  see  that  such  suitors  as  might 
be  tempted  by  this  fresh  inducement  would  be 
worth  waiting  for.  In  fact,  Bell  had  indulged  of 
late  in  so  many  day  dreams  in  which  the  cheery 
and  industrious  farm  kitchen  had  a  place  that 
the  thought  of  a  "fine  leddy  life"  had  now  no 
charms  for  her.  Besides,  had  not  Willie 
Mitchell  loved  her  for  herself  alone.''  His  love 
was  entireh'  disinterested,  for  he  had  sued  for 
her  hand  before  it  was  known  such  good  fortune 
w^as  in  store  for  her.  Mrs.  Cowie's  matrimonial 
ambitions  had  been  frustrated;  she  had  even 
humbled  herself  so  far  as  to  admit  that  Provi- 
dence had  acted  wisely  in  so  doing.  Notwith- 
standing, the  ruling  passion  in  the  woman's 
nature  was  hard  to  extinguish.  Bell  was 
eminently  fitted   to   be  the  wife  of  a  superior 

man.     She  was  not  so  over-mastering  now  with 
280 


SETTLEMENTS 

her  opinion,  but  she  advised  Bell  after  her 
return  from  Airtoun,  to  take  a  week  to  think 
about  it.  Bell  was  dutiful,  and  obeyed,  but  the 
result  at  the  end  of  this  period  was  that  her 
mind  was  more  and  more  made  up.  She  had 
given  continuous  consideration  to  the  question 
night  and  day,  but  the  time  was  absorbed  in 
rosy  drcamings  of  farm  life,  of  well-stocked 
byres  and  golden  stack-yards,  how  bow  windows 
could  be  struck  out  here,  and  improved  out- 
houses according  to  recent  reading,  erected 
there.  She  would  have  a  garden  laid  off  ever  so 
much  nicer  than  they  had  at  home,  with  a 
green-house  where  they  could  grow  vines.  Then 
in  the  lownest  and  prettiest  nook  of  this  garden 
enclosure  there  would  be  a  summer-house  with 
a  porch  up  which  creepers  would  grow  to  keep 
her  in  mind  of  the  place  where  she  first  learned 
how  strong  and  deep  and  unselfish  the  love  of 
a  man  could  be.  The  outcome  of  this  serious 
consideration  of  the  matter  was  known  to  her 
mother  for  some  days  before  the  accidental 
meeting  with  her  lover  in  the  glen. 

The  exigencies  of  the  season  made  it  meet 

that    the   young  farmer  should  remain    in   the 
281 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

fields  till  the  day's  work  was  done;  but  the 
metaphoric  wings  Bell  had  placed  on  his  heels 
enabled  him  to  "  lowse  "  early.  His  reception 
at  Windy-yett  later  was  cordial,  but  business- 
like —  cordial  in  so  far  as  the  consent  to  marry 
Bell  was  concerned. 

"But  there  maun  be  settlements,"  said  Mrs. 
Cowie.  She  had  talked  the  matter  over  with 
her  husband,  who  remonstrated  feebly.  If  there 
was  to  be  any  business  talked  she  must  do  that 
herself;  he  would  not  interfere  in  the  matter, 
"buff  nor  styme. " 

"Settlements,"  the  young  man  repeated,  not 
quite  comprehending,  for  being  unmercenary  he 
had  not  thought  of  the  necessity  of  such  legal 
terms,  "  Od,  I  hinna  thocht  aboot  nae  settle- 
ments, a'  I  cam  for  was  to  ask  your  leave  to 
settle  doon  wi'  Bell." 

"Prime,"  laughed  Windy-yett  with  un- 
becoming levity.  Mrs.  Cowie's  look,  however, 
checked  his  merriment. 

"  It's  no  laughing  matter,  but  serious  business. 

If  ye  kent  mair  ye  would  jest  less.      It's  what  is 

common  in  the  best  society,  and  Bell  is  fitted  to 

marrow  wi'  the  best.    It  is  true  we  have  agreed 
282 


SETTLEMENTS 

to  her  marriage,  but  the  siller  maun  be  settled 
on  hersel'." 

"When  I  sought  your  daughter,"  Coultar- 
mains  spoke  with  frankness  and  spirit,  "  I  kent 
nothing  aboot  this  siller,  maybe  we'd  have  been 
happier  withoot  it,  for  I've  seen  the  like;  do 
what  you  think  right  aboot  settlements  for  it 
maks  nae  differs  to  me.  We  have  enough  to 
keep  us  as  it  is,  and  a'  I  want  is  Bell."  This 
delicate  but  all-important  duty  having  been 
settled  to  her  satisfaction,  Mrs.  Cowie  was 
disposed  to  make  concessions  in  matters  of  less 
weight.  Mitchell  wished  the  marriage  to  take 
place  as  soon  as  possible.  His  sister  was  leaving 
him  at  Lammas,  and  with  the  harv^est  coming 
on,  it  was  desirable  that  he  should  not  be  left 
without  a  housekeeper.  Mrs.  Cowie  was  too 
practical  not  to  admit  the  reasonableness  of  this 
wish. 

"  I  vote  that  the  twa  weemen  be  knocket  aff 

at   the   ae   time,"    the    farmer   remarked   with 

forgetful  jocoseness.     The  light-heartedness  was 

untimely.      His  wife  reminded  him  severely  that 

such  language  was  ill-fitted  for  the  occasion  of 
283 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

her  daughter's  marriage,  being  more  descriptive 
of  an  "unction  mairt. " 

The  idea  of  Bell  being  married  side  by  side 
with  Susie  Mitchell! 

"Na,  na, "  she  said  firmly,  thinking  of 
the  mixing  of  relations,  "v/e'll  have  no  double 
marriages.  Bell  will  be  ready  before  Lammas 
gin  ye  like;  but  as  for  the  marriages  themsel's 
we  maun  be  content  wi'  ane  at  a  time." 


284 


CHAPTER   XXII 

NANCE   M'WEE'S   CONFIDANTS 

Nance  M'Wee,  the  dairy  woman,  as  she  was 
called  at  Windy-yett  (the  name,  however,  cov- 
ered but  a  fraction  of  her  duties),  had  a  way  of 
saying  things  to  herself  that  sometimes  gave  her 
relief.  The  orra  man  helped  her  as  a  rule  at 
milking-time,  and  when  there  was  butter  required 
Mrs.  Cowie  occasionally  put  to  her  hand.  But 
she  had  cheese  to  make,  the  washing  to  do,  and 
such  cooking,  between  times,  as  the  family 
required.  Nance  had  come  to  Windy-yett  three 
years  by-gone  without  a  character,  and  when 
Mrs.  Cowie  was  in  a  mood  not  to  be  too  par- 
ticular about  other  people's  feelings  she  was 
none  loath  to  cast  it  up  to  her.  This  misfortune 
arose  out  of  a  misunderstanding.  She  had  been 
in  a  town  place  previously  where  a  neighbour 
servant  was  kept.  This  girl  was  from  the  High- 
285 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

lands  and  had  unusual  ways.  One  day  she  fell 
in  the  scullery  and  twisted  her  back. 

"  I  will  lie  down  on  my  face,"  says  this  High- 
land girl,  "  and  you  will  stand  on  my  back  and 
bring  it  right." 

Nance,  willing  to  be  useful,  did  as  she  was 
told,  but  being  a  stout  lass  there  ensued  a  suc- 
cession of  deep  sonorous  nasal  exclamations  that 
reminded  the  operator  of  what  she  had  once 
heard  from  a  gaelic  pulpit  on  sacrament  Sunday. 
Thereupon  the  mistress  came  in.  Poor  Nance's 
place  on  the  neighbour  girl's  back  was  misunder- 
stood. The  mistress  being  sentimental  called 
her  a  "  horrid  woman."  She  had  previously 
intimated  that  as  soon  as  the  fires  were  off  she 
intended  to  keep  only  one  girl.  This  incident 
settled  her  choice  —  Nance  must  go  —  she  would 
stand  by  the  girl  who  had  been  trampled  on. 

Nance  did  not  like  the  town.     "  The  scenery 

wi'  drunk  men   on  a   Setterday  nicht,"  as    she 

confided    to    the    orra    man   "was  just   awfu'." 

Her  desires  were  pastoral.     She  liked  the  soft 

eyes  and  balmy  herbal  breath  of  the  cows,  and 

never  wearied  of  ministering  to  them.     She  was 

a  good  sort  —  Nance,  and  very  willing  to  work ; 
286 


NANCE   M'WEE'S   CONFIDANTS 

but  since  tlie  marriage  was  fixed,  as  she  confided 
to  the  wash  tub,  "the  day  wasna  hauf  lang 
enough  for  what  there  was  to  do.  Everything  is 
dune  in  sic  a  hurry  that  naething  is  dune  richt. 
The  mistress  is  that  unreasonable  and  gets  into 
a  pucker  aboot  naething.  Just  think  o'  her 
raging  into  my  room  at  fower  on  Monday  morn- 
ing crying  oot,  '  Nance,  Nance,  get  up  ye  lazy 
woman,  the  morn's  Tuesday,  the  next  day's 
Wednesday,  the  hauf  o'  the  week  gane  and  no 
a  turn  o'  work  dune  yet.'  There  noo,  I  declare 
ye  wud  think  I  was  amphibious  and  could  be  in 
twa  places  at  ae  time."  Nance  hurried  away 
from  the  washing  green  at  her  mistress's  call,  and 
addressed  her  next  remarks  to  the  frying-pan. 

"  I'm  no  losing  my  memory  nane,  as  she 
thinks,  but  I  havena  fowcr  pair  o'  hauns.  It's 
gey  hard  that  she  should  be  so  snappy  to  me 
and  so  fair  to  thae  dressmaking  women  ben  the 
hoose ;  but  they  flatter  her  aboot  her  taste,  her 
style  and  what-not,  and  tell  her  that  a  woman  o' 
her  position  should  have  this,  that,  and  the  ither, 
till  she's  clean  blawn  up  wi'  vanity.  They  tell 
me  it  a'  comes  o'  this  lash  o'  siller  she's  gotten 
by  the  droonin'  o'  that  gentleman  she  was  so  set 

on    for  Bell.      But   what's    siller  guid    for  if  it 
287 


DOCTOR  CONGALTON'S  LEGACY 

doesna  bring  rest  and  contentment  to  the 
mind?" 

Nance  hurried  off  to  set  the  dinner  in  the 
parlour  where  the  women  folk  were  working 
among  their  silks,  laces,  and  other  bridal  para- 
phernalia. 

"  Table  naipkins ! "  she  came  back  to  the 
kitchen  to  say.  "  Did  ever  onybody  hear  the 
like  o't?  'Nance,'  says  she,  quite  calm-like, 
'  ye've  forgot  the  table-naipkins,'  as  if  ever  I  had 
seen  table-naipkins  i'  the  hoose  before.  Then 
she  gangs  owre  to  the  drawer  and  feches  oot 
some  fine  towels,  opens  them  at  the  fold,  and 
cocks  them  doon,  end  up,  beside  each  plate.  No 
doot  it  was  a  reasonable  enough  thing  to  gie  the 
women  something  to  dicht  their  greezy  fingers 
on  so  that  they  wudna  fyle  the  things  they  w^ere 
working  wi' ;  but  to  blame  me  !  It's  a  mercy  I 
didna  break  oot  and  tell  the  truth.  But  Bell 
looked  up  and  made  a  face  at  me  —  she  is  real 
decent  that  wye —  as  much  as  to  say  '  Nance,  it's 
a  trying  time,  but  just  you  thole  till  this  is  by  !  '  " 

It  was  indeed  a  severely  testing  time  for  poor 

Nance    during   the  six  days   the    dressmaking 

went  on,  but  she  always  found  solace  at  evening 

milking   time.      The   walk   home   through    the 

288 


NANCE    M'Vv^EE'S   CONFIDANTS 

clover  tield  with  the  cows  and  her  communings 
with  them  afterwards  was  the  one  compensating 
experience  of  the  day. 

As  Nance  set  off  thoughtfully  round  the  end 
of  the  byre  to  fetch  her  dumb  friends  in  to  the 
milking  you  might  have  fancied  she  was  admir- 
ing the  sunset  or  the  soothing  bird-melody  in 
the  neighbouring  wood ;  but  no,  her  heart  was 
in  her  ears  listening  to  the  lowing  welcome  of 
the  cattle.  She  knew  the  distinctive  call  of 
each,  "That's  'Daisy'  or  'Becky'  or  'Butter- 
cup,' "  she  would  exclaim.  Then  as  she  reached 
the  gate  and  put  her  shapely  arm  through  the 
bars  to  undo  the  hasp,  she  would  address  the 
half-dozen  moist  noses  about  her  shoulders, 
"  Puir  leddies,  have  ye  been  wearying  for  me?" 
Day  b\'  day  she  had  something  new  to  tell 
them,  as  the  creamy  froth  rose  higher  in  the 
luggie  between  her  knees.  When  the  orra  man 
was  .there  she  spoke  in  general  terms.  "Beware 
o'  siller,  leddies."  She  was  in  a  didactic  mood, 
"Na,  I  needna  name  nae  siccana  thing  to  you, 
for  ye  wudna  ken  what  to  do  wi'  siller  though 
ye  had  it,  puir  things,  but  siller  whiles  does 
mair  hairm  than  guid,  putting  upsetting  notions 
19  :2  89 


DOCTOR  CONGALTON'S  LEGACY 

in  folk's  heads,  making  them  rideec'lous  baith 
in  their  ain  station  and  in  the  station  they  aim  to 
fill.  But,  leddies,  you're  no  to  think  that  siller 
honestly  come  by  is  a  bad  thing.  D'ye  hear 
that,  Danny  lad?  siller's  guid  if  ye  ken  hoo  to 
use  it.  Mony  have  heaps  o't  that  are  no  rich 
ava,  for  they  hinna  the  hert  or  winna  tak'  the 
trouble  to  do  guid  wi'  't.  They  only  get  their 
meat  like  the  rest  o'  us,  puir  craturs,  and  a 
cauld  bed  i'  the  kirkyard  when  a's  dune.  But, 
leddies,  gin  I  had  siller  I  wud  big  ye  a  new 
byre,  and  buy  a  silver  bell  for  the  neck  o'  ilk 
ane  o'  ye.  Ay,  wud  I ;  and  ye  wud  sleep  sweetly 
at  night  on  a  bed  o'  clean  pea-strae.  Then  I 
wud  send  Danny  here  to  the  college,  and  mak' 
a  minister  o'  him ;  and  when  he  got  a  kirk  I  wud 
gar  him  tell  me  wha  was  in  trouble  and  I  wud 
gang  and  help  them  wi'  my  ain  haun."  The 
prospective  minister  having  been  summoned 
from  the  byre  to  run  to  the  merchants,  the  con- 
fidence became  more  personal.  "  But  heigh-ho  ! 
Daisy,  my  lass,  I  am  but  a  poor  servant  like 
yersel'  and  barely  as  weel  used.  Here,  even 
withoot  a  character,  as  the  mistress  never  fails 

to  remind  me,  though  I'm  sure  ye  dinna  heed 
290 


NANCE    M'WEE'S   CONFIDANTS 

aboot  thae  things  so  lang  as  ye  have  kind 
hauns  aboot  ye."  Nance  was  summarily  called 
from  the  milk-pail  to  find  her  mistress  inveigh- 
ing against  slackness,  and  Bell  in  hot,  but 
unsuccessful  pursuit,  of  a  brown  hen  whose 
restlessness  had  got  the  better  of  her  maternal 
instincts.  On  returning  she  resumed  her  mono- 
logue, breathing  rapidly,  "  Danny  must  have 
left  that  door  open,  though  as  usual,  it  was 
blamed  on  me.  Ah,  leddies,  learning  and  pump- 
slippers  put  folk  fair  ooto'  place  in  a  farm-yaird. 
Boarding-schule  edication  !  I  wonder  what  guid 
a  boarding-schule  edication  dis  ye  if  ye  canna 
catch  a  clockin'  hen.  I  declare  I'm  clean  breath- 
less wi'  that  race.  Na,  Daisy,  my  dawtie,  I 
wudna  have  tholed  it  so  lang  but  for  you  and 
the  ithers.  Though  if,  gin  this  marriage  is  by, 
there's  no  improvement  —  weel,  I  winna  break 
your  kind  hcrts  by  talking  aboot  what  might 
happen  at  Marti'mas ;  but  as  my  decent  auld 
faither  used  to  say,  '  better  a  finger  aff  than  aye 
waggin'.'  " 

Nance  was  in  better  spirits  at  a  subsequent 
milking-time. 

'■  This  is  the  last  day  o'  the  dressmaking,  and, 
-91 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

leddies,  from  what  you've  heard  tell,  I  don't 
think  ony'oody  has  reason  to  be  sorry,  for  though 
the  women  were  guid  shewers  they  gied  us  a'  a 
hantle  o'  work.  But  Becky,  lass,  ye'll  no  guess 
what  I'm  gaun  to  say  —  I  got  the  present  o'  a 
new  goon  for  the  marriage.  Yes,  a  new  goon ! 
Na,  ye  needna  look  roon  for  it's  owre  braw  for 
the  byre.  But  Sunday  eight  days  is  my  day 
cot.  If  you're  at  the  laich  end  o'  the  meadow- 
field  keep  your  ee  on  the  road  as  the  folk  come 
hame  frae  the  kirk,  but  I  assure  ye  you'll  need 
to  keep  a  sharp  look  oot  or  ense  ye  micht  mis- 
tak'  me  for  a  fine  leddy.  Eh,  it  was  an  uncom- 
mon nice  thing  o'  Mistress  Bell  to  think  o'  the 
new  dress.  She  took  me  aside  and  said  her 
mother  had  come  through  an  anxious  time,  but 
she  wud  calm  doon  and  a'  wud  come  richt  when 
the  marriage  is  bye.  Eh,  my  leddies,  gin  that 
cam  true  it  wud  be  guid  news." 

Two  nights  before  the  wedding  the  hearts  of 
the  bovine  audience  were  fluttered  by  mysterious 
confidences ;  though  the  whisperings  at  times 
could  not  have  gone  much  beyond  Becky's  well- 
elevated  and  back-turned  ears.  "  Oh,  leddies,  I 
have  something  to  tell  ye,  but  ye  maunna  let  on. 
292 


NANCE    M' WEE'S   CONFIDANTS 

It's  weel  for  you  that  Danny's  no  here,  or  ye 
wudna  get  a  syllable  o't  frae  me.  But  it's  a 
secret,  a  dead  secret,  and  if  ye  werena  sic  great 
friends  I  wud  keep  it  to  mysel' ;  still-an-on  it's  a 
comfort  to  have  ye  to  speak  till.  I  wis  up  at 
the  junction  station  yestreen  wi'  a  message  frae 
the  mistress,  and  I  forgathered  wi'  somebody, 
but  ye  wudna  ken  his  name  if  I  tell'd  ye.  He's 
connected  wi'  the  railway,  and  drives  about  in  a 
great  iron  carriage  that  wud  fricht  ye  to  see,  but 
he's  unco  quiet  and  kind  himsel',  and  I've  kent 
him  sin'  ever  he  cam'  to  the  junction,  and  —  and 

—  noo  when  I  think  o't,  I  maunna  tell  ye  the  rest 
yet,  just  tak'  time  and  try  to  mak'  oot  the  leeze 
o'  the  thing  among  ye;  and,  leddies,"  —  Nance 
raised  her  voice  that  all  might  hear,  "if  ye  find 
oot  the  .secret  dinna  vex  yoursel's  aboot  me,  for 
if  it's  ony  comfort  to  ye,  ye  should  ken  he  has 
got  a  bonny  bit  cottage  —  and  a  coo." 

Whatever  Nance's  secret  was,  even  the  beef- 
witted  listeners  might  have  identified  her  friend 
as  Jaik  Short  the  engine-driver  on  the  Junction 
Railway.  Jaik  was  a  widower  with  two  pretty 
little  mites  of  children,  and  as  Nance  had  said 
he  was  possessed  of  "  a  bonny  bit  cottage  and 

—  a  coo."  293 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

BELL    COWIE's    WEDDING 

Isaac  Kilgour  had  a  three  days'  job  at  Kil- 
baan,  but  on  the  morning  of  the  fourth  day  im- 
portant news  arrived,  and  Miss  Hetty  Hazlet 
gave  him  an  early  dinner,  charging  him  to  convey 
the  inteUigence  with  all  haste  to  the  Manse  of 
Kilspindie.  It  was  a  lovely  morning  in  the  last 
week  of  July  —  the  day  on  which  Bell  Cowie  was 
to  marry  Willie  Mitchell  —  and  everybody  thought 
the  sunshine  was  a  good  omen.  Isaac  started 
with  ordinary  activity  about  noon,  but,  for  reasons 
of  his  own,  did  not  wish  to  reach  Kilspindie  in 
a  hurry,  so  when  he  got  round  the  elbow  of 
the  road  he  went  leisurely.  It  was  four  o'clock 
when  he  reached  the  point  where  the  Garnet 
comes  in  view,  four  miles  from  the  manse.  He 
might  have  been  at  Kilspindie  by  that  time  with 
294 


BELL   COWIE'S   WEDDING 

moderate  walking.  Isaac  left  the  dusty  high  road, 
took  a  sheltered  loaning  leading  to  the  river,  and 
settled  himself  on  a  thymey  seat  at  the  tail  of  a 
pool  where  the  sun  was  making  liquid  honey- 
comb above  the  gravel.  On  the  opposite  side  a 
clump  of  marsh-mallows,  with  great  yellow  cups, 
leant  down  to  the  edge  of  the  still  water,  and 
doubled  its  beauty.  Flies  flickered  in  swarms 
up  stream,  their  shadows  darting  here  and  there 
on  the  amber  bottom,  deceiving  the  fish  with 
unsubstantial  fare.  The  gardener  was  curtained 
from  the  heat  by  kindly  trees.  A  balmy  wind 
coming  down  the  valley  rippled  softly  across  a 
field  of  wheat,  and  toyed  with  the  blue-green 
tassels  of  the  firs  on  the  opposite  bank.  Isaac 
appeared  to  be  counting  the  moving  dots  of 
fleece  on  the  green  hill-side  beyond  the  clover 
meadow.  But  who  can  tell  the  ferlies  that  may 
pass  through  the  mind  of  a  taciturn  man,  or 
gauge  the  mystery  of  his  thought  when  he  never 
lets  on?  He  had  mused  and  rested  an  unreason- 
able time  for  a  person  charged  with  urgent  news, 
and  was  apparently  half-dozing  when  the  smooth 
water  beyond  the  willows  was  violently  split,  and 
a  great  bull  trout  leaped  in  the  air,  shook  a 
295 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

stubborn  head,  and  fell  back  with  a  sonsy  splash. 
The  spectator  was  no  fisher,  nor  did  he  know 
the  ways  of  fish  ;  but  on  turning  his  head  to 
watcli  the  rings  of  the  pool  widening  towards 
the  shore,  he  saw  something,  like  a  fine  wire, 
slicing  the  water  in  different  directions.  Fol- 
lowing this  upwards,  for  the  sun  was  gleaming 
on  it,  he  observed  above  the  intervening  willows 
the  graceful  bend  of  a  strong  rod,  whose  rings 
and  joints  glittered  in  the  light.  He  was  in- 
terested mildly,  but  did  not  alter  his  posture. 
Once  again  the  captive  fish  sought  unavailing 
freedom  in  the  air,  but  the  unseen  fisher  handled 
him  with  absorbing  skill,  and  it  was  not  until  he 
had  laid  the  fish  on  the  grassy  bank,  and  con- 
templated the  prize  from  different  standpoints, 
that  he  observed  Isaac. 

"  That  was  a  game  fight,"  he  cried  over  the 
water,  proudly.  "He's  a  beauty  —  six  pounds 
at  the  very  least."  Then  he  lifted  the  captive 
by  the  gills  displaying  his  solid  shoulders  and 
speckled  sides,  as  if  challenging  the  spectator 
or  the  light  of  day  to  take  an  ounce  off  the 
liberally  estimated   weight.      Indifferent  people 

take  things  for  granted  to  save  concern.     Isaac 
296 


BELL   COWIE'S   WEDDING 

nodded,  and  turned  away,  but  next  moment 
he  was  conscious  that  this  well-dressed  sports- 
man was  ploughing  across  the  swiftly-running 
stream  with  a  goodly-sized  flask  in  his  hand. 
Isaac  watched  the  young  man  pensively  as  he 
splashed  towards  the  bank  on  which  he  sat. 
He  might  be  admiring  the  generous  social  im- 
pulse of  the  youth,  but  more  probably  he  was 
wondering  who  had  made  the  money  —  his  grand- 
father or  his  father  —  which  had  paid  for  that 
flashing  diamond  ring,  and  that  faultless  outfit 
he  wore. 

"  By  Jove ! "  (he  spoke  with  an  English  accent, 
nobody  swore  by  those  foreign  gods  in  these 
northern  by-ways)  "that  is  a  fine  fish!  Don't 
you  think  so.-*  At  any  rate  you  must  drink  my 
health."  He  stood  in  the  water  and  poured  a 
libation  that  would  have  cheered  the  heart  and 
been  welcome  to  most  men  in  the  gardener's 
station,  but  Isaac  remained  seated  and  shook  his 
head. 

"  No ! "  exclaimed  the  young  man  in  honest 
surprise.  "It's  the  best  old  brandy;  no  ques- 
tionable stuff;  has  been  in  our  cellar  for  over 

twenty  years." 

297 


DOCTOR   CONCxALTON'S   LEGACY 

Perhaps  Isaac  concluded  it  was  his  grand- 
father who  had  amassed  the  money ;  they 
generally  made  ducks  and  drakes  of  it  in  the 
third  generation,  but  he  said  simply  — 

"I  canna  stand  it,  sir.     I  wish  ye  weel." 

"Ah,"  said  the  fisherman  sympathetically, 
**head  easily  touched?  " 

"No,"  replied  Isaac;  "it's  the  legs,  and  I'm 
fower  miles  frae  hame. " 

The  youth  laughed  good-naturedly,  drank  the 
old  man's  health,  emptying  the  cup.  "  It  comes 
of  drinking  that  coarse  national  liquor  of  yours. 
I  knew  a  man  who  was  addicted  to  it ;  but  nature 
in  him  was  too  gentlemanly,  preferring  to  break 
down  rather  than  be  brutalized.  You  Scotch 
people  know  nothing  of  the  delights  of  respect- 
able inebriation.  Champagne,  followed  by  a  glass 
or  two  of  green  Chartreuse,  is  the  right  thing, 
makes  you  comfortably  magnanimous;  if  you 
are  impelled  to  move,  your  motions  are  digni- 
fied and  graceful,  and  there  is  no  feeling  of  fiery 
discomfort,  no  sudden  angular  impulses  of  pro- 
pulsion, such  as  one  sees  to  be  the  result  of 
your  masterful  Scotch  whisky.  By-by. "  The 
bibulous  philosopher  waved  his  hand,  recrossed 
298 


BELL   COVVIE'S   WEDDING 

the  stream,  and  stalked  gaily  down  the  mossy 
bank  on  the  opposite  side.  Isaac  watched  the 
pliant  top  of  his  finely-balanced  rod  twinkling 
above  the  willow  branches  after  the  fisher  himself 
had  disappeared. 

"Daidlin  ninycompook !  "  was  all  the  gar- 
dener said.  It  was  a  home-made  phrase,  but 
served  his  purpose.  He  looked  at  his  w^atch ; 
whatever  the  record  of  time  might  be,  it  seemed 
that  as  yet  there  was  no  immediate  necessity 
to  move  on. 

All  the  afternoon  there  had  been  uncommon 
stir  on  the  roads  converging  on  Kilspindie.  You 
could  stand  in  front  of  the  candle-maker's  work- 
shop and  see  the  farmers  with  their  wives  and 
daughters  (the  sons  found  their  way  on  foot), 
driving  from  south  and  west  towards  the  scene 
of  the  afternoon  festivities  at  Windy-yett.  Those 
from  the  south  passed  over  the  bridge,  while 
others,  journeying  from  the  westward,  could  be 
seen  over  the  low  hedge  as  they  drove  along 
the  high  road  above  Nancy  Beedam's  cottage. 
Harlaw,  Sheersmill,  Damhead,  and  William  Pur- 
don,  the  laird  of  Drumlaw,  had  all  passed  with 
their  belongings,  and  waved  their  whips  in 
299 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

jovial  salutation  to  the  group  of  male  gossips 
at  Brig-end.  William  Lonen  closed  his  school 
an  hour  earlier  than  usual,  and  after  posting  a 
sonnet  to  the  editor  of  the  county  newspaper,  he 
and  his  wife  got  a  "cast  foret "  in  Harlaw's  gig. 
Harlaw  was  a  well-to-do  bachelor,  with  a  bien 
farm,  and  that  day  many  a  glance  had  been 
bestowed  on  the  looking-glass,  and  many  a  deli- 
cate touch  given  to  the  feminine  toilet  with  him 
in  view. 

Everybody  said  the  smith  should  have  been 
invited,  though  some  who  made  that  remark 
considered  they  had  an  equal  claim,  and  meant 
simply  to  provoke  an  expression  of  his  disap- 
pointment. It  was  a  sore  point  undoubtedly, 
but  to  the  outer  world  he  passed  it  off  with 
grace.  "There  is  sic  a  fell  heap  o'  relations," 
he  said  modestly.  At  home,  however,  there 
was  a  different  story. 

Windy-yett,  a  month  before,  was  over  at  the 
village  consulting  the  smith  about  a  "  coo-beast  " 
that  was  threatened  with  pneumonia.  Without 
due  consideration  of  his  limited  rule  at  home,  he 
had  told  Mrs,  Pringle  that  she  maun  practise 
her  steps  for  a  skip  at  Bell's  wedding.  Where- 
300 


BELL   COWIE'S   WEDDING 

upon  there  was  a  great  stir  in  the  smith's  house- 
hold. His  wife  made  several  discoveries.  Indeed 
she  was  appalled  as  she  turned  out  the  wardrobe 
and  exposed  her  things  to  the  light  of  day.  She 
had  a  cloak  that  was  fashionable  when  Jenny 
was  at  the  breast,  but  Jenny  was  now  five  years 
old.  Her  silk  gown  had  been  turned,  and  looked 
"  sair  tashed. "  She  would  not  say  a  word  about 
her  bonnet.  It  was  bought  after  the  roup  at 
Smiddy-yard,  but  she  could  get  sprays,  and  a 
yard  or  two  of  cheap  ribbon,  and  put  them  on 
with  her  own  hands.  That  surely  was  economy 
sufficient  to  satisfy  any  man.  But  what  man  is 
there  gifted  enough  to  be  reasonable  in  matters 
of  female  attire.''  When  the  smith  inconsider- 
ately asked  if  "the  gown  wudna  turn  again," 
she  laid  the  things  meekly  past,  and  said  it  was 
"clean  nonsense  in  her  state  o'  health  to  think 
o'  gaun  to  onybody's  wedding. "  The  smith  said 
nothing  more  at  the  time,  but  this  was  the  point 
at  which  he  always  gave  in.  He  made  up  his 
mind  that  a  new  gown  she  should  have  —  at  least. 
Meantime  his  wife  went  about  her  duties  meeker 
than  ever,  and  kept  on  expressing  the  hope  that 
they  wouldn't  waste  an  invitation  on  her.  Never- 
301 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

theless,  for  days  before  they  were  issued,  she 
contrived  to  be  about  the  Brig-end  every  morning 
as  the  postman  passed. 

"  It's  a  cruel  shame !  "  her  husband  exclaimed 
two  days  after  Mrs.  Lonen  had  shown  her  invita- 
tion to  Mrs.  Pringle.  "They're  nane  slow  to 
seek  us  when  they  want  a  favour.  Ritchie  Cowie 
should  have  held  his  tongue  aboot  dancing  at 
Bell's  wedding." 

"It  wasna  his  faut,"  his  wife  replied  gently. 
"Besides,  it'll  save  expense." 

"Save  expense!"  he  reiterated  with  reckless 
benevolence.  "Wha  cares  for  expense .''  —  it's 
the  affront !  I  was  gaun  to  gie  ye  a  silk  gown, 
woman,  but  ye's  get  a  new  jacket  too,  and 
appear  at  the  kirkin  as  fine  as  the  best  o' 
them." 

"You're  aye  that  kind,"  his  wife  replied  with 
tears  in  her  voice;  "but  ye  manna  think  o' 
the  jacket,  Peter,  we  never  could  afford  it. 
Besides "     She  hesitated. 

"  Besides  what  ?  "  the  imperious  husband  de- 
manded. 

"I'd  be  braw  an'  proud  o'  a  silk  goon,"  she 
said,  looking  up  in  the  grim,  kindly  face;  "but 
302 


EELL   COWIE'S   WEDDING 

dinna  think  o'  onytbing  mair,  for  a  new  jacket 
wud  belittle  tbe  bonnet." 

"  Dagont !  "  he  cried,  striking  his  great  black 
fist  on  the  dresser.  "  I  am  so  angert  at  their 
treatment  o'  us  that  ye' 11  get  a  new  bonnet  as 
weel,  to  spite  them  !  " 

"  Oh,  Peter,  boo  could  I  ever  gie  in  to  that  ? 
—  But  you're  sic  a  maisterfu'  man." 

Thus  tbe  affront  was  alleviated.  It  was  agreed, 
however,  on  the  suggestion  of  Mrs.  Pringle,  that 
they  should  defer  making  these  purchases  till 
after  the  wedding  lest  any  one  should  suppose 
they  had  been  provided  for  that  occasion. 

In  the  grey  of  the  evening  Kirdy's  cairn, 
behind  the  change-house,  became  the  absorbing 
point  of  interest.  Here  a  tar-barrel  and  various 
inflammable  faggots  had  been  built  into  a  com- 
pact pile,  to  which  the  younger  and  gayer  spirits 
were  adding  the  finishing  touches.  The  more 
amorous  and  seriously-disposed  swains  took 
their  places  under  the  great  chestnut-tree  at 
Elsie  Craig's  well,  where,  in  company  with  fresh 
and  winsome  maidens,  chaperoned  by  "water- 
stoups, "  they  could  improve  their  time  while 
waiting  for  the  bonfire. 
3^3 


DOCTOR  CONGALTON'S  LEGACY 

Isaac  Kilgour  turned  into  the  loaning  leading 
to  his  own  house  as  the  candle-maker  gave  the 
word  of  command  to  fire  the  cairn.  This  dis- 
tinction naturally  belonged  to  a  man  who  had 
sacrificed  a  score  of  his  rankest  "dips"  to 
speed  on  and  intensify  the  conflagration.  Zedie 
Lawson  crept  past  his  brother-in-law  under  the 
obscuring  shadow  of  the  hedge  as  Isaac  went 
down  the  brae.  He  wondered  if  the  mean 
whistling  body  liad  been  at  the  bothie  after  the 
spiteful  things  he  and  his  wife  had  been  saying 
about  their  marriage.  Janet  was  standing  at  the 
door,  looking  up  between  the  hedges. 

"  Has  he  been  in  ?  "   Isaac  inquired. 

"  Na ;  the  craitur  wud  be  sent  roon  to  spy 
ferlies.  He's  aye  snokin'  aboot.  Come  awa' ; 
I  have  your  supper  ready." 

Isaac  went  in  and  deposited  the  red  pocket- 
handkerchief  containing  his  travelling  requisites 
on  the  small  settle. 

"  Couthie  Janet  —  irr  ye  there  ?  —  Come  ben 
Isaac,"  cried  the  bird  above  the  giiiiall,  then 
its  muffled  voice  ran  into  a  cynical  cackle  of 
a  laugh.  Isaac  turned,  and  was  making  for  the 
door  when  his  wife  intercepted  him. 
304 


BELL  COVVIE'S  WEDDING 

"You're  surely  no  gaun  oot  again  wi'  yer 
supper  on  the  table  ?  " 

"  I  maun  see  the  minister,"  he  said  doggedly. 
"I'll  supper  nane  till  I've  seen  the  minister." 

"But  the  minister's  at  the  marriage." 

"  The  marriage  will  be  bye  an  hour  syne ;  he 
doesna  bide  for  the  dancing." 

"Then  ye'll  have  ill-news,  I' se  warrant.  Is 
onybody  ailing? " 

"Bide  awee  and  ye'll  hear;  the  news  is  no 
that  ill." 

It  had  occurred  to  her  that  she  had  seen  "just 
sic  anither  dour  man  in  Houston  parish,"  when 
he  pushed  past  her  and  walked  leisurely  up  the 
loaning  towards  the  manse. 

From  inquiry  at  the  door  he  learned  that  the 
minister  had  not  yet  returned,  but  was  expected 
immediately.  The  fire  was  now  blazing  nobly 
on  Kirdy's  cairn.  The  inn,  the  school-house, 
Broomfields,  and  the  cottages  between  were 
smitten  with  the  palpitating  glow.  The  smithy 
and  the  candle-maker's  workshop  lay  in  com- 
parative gloom,  save  when  the  flame  lengthened 
fitfully,  and  caught  sight  of  the  red-tiled  roof. 
The  gleam  from  the  cairn  bridged  the  river 
20  305 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

from  hedge  to  hedge,  lit  up  the  loom  shops  on 
the  right,  and  travelled  on  towards  Millend, 
revealing  the  votaries  at  Elsie  Craig's  well, 
adding  its  cheerfulness  even  to  the  kitchen- 
gardens  where  the  privet  hedges  were  not  too 
high.  The  merchant's  modest  one-storey  build- 
ing had  no  share  in  the  rejoicing  warmth  owing 
to  the  masterful  prominence  of  Tinny  Walker's 
gable.  It  was  not  long  before  Isaac's  expectant 
ear  caught  the  crackle  of  wheels  above  Broom- 
fields.  Then  he  heard  a  few  voices  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  the  inn  initiating  a  cheer  which 
gradually  spread  until  it  was  taken  up  by  the 
larger  concourse  of  villagers  surrounding  the 
cairn.  This  cheer  was  in  honour  of  the  minister, 
who,  before  the  echoes  were  done  with  it,  had 
reached  the  manse  gate. 

"  Are  they  marrit,  sir  ? "  said  the  gardener, 
coming  out  of  the  shadow  as  Mr.  Maconkey 
stepped  down. 

"Ay,  Isaac;  I've  fastened  a  hasp  the  day 
they'll  no  unbuckle  in  a  hurry." 

"There's  no  doubt  aboot  it  in  a  legal  sense.?" 

persisted  Isaac. 

"The  case  is  beyond  doubt  both  legally  and 
306 


BELL   COWIE'S   WEDDING 

morally,"  laughed  the  minister.  "  But,  Isaac, 
you  are  excited.  Is  there  anything  the  matter?  " 
"  Na,"  he  replied,  "  there  is  nothing  the  matter 
wi'  me ;  but  I  have  news  for  ye.  Noo  that  the 
marriage  is  bye,  ye  may  preach  it  from  the  pulpit 
or  the  hoosetaps  gin  ye  like,  for  it's  richt  gled 
gospel  news  —  Mr.  Congalton's  saved!  " 


307 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

THE   RESCUE 

Astounding  as  it  may  appear,  the  intelligence 
which  Isaac  Kilgour  carried  so  tardily  to  the 
minister  of  Kilspindie  was  true.  The  circum- 
stances, when  they  came  to  be  fully  known, 
formed  a  romantic  chapter  in  real  life  stranger 
than  fiction.  When  the  Minerva  so  suddenly 
encountered  that  terrible  onslaught  of  sea  and 
wind  which  shifted  her  cargo  and  turned  her 
over,  all  on  board  were  below,  as  has  been  told, 
with  the  exception  of  the  mate,  who  escaped 
and  communicated  the  intelligence  of  the 
disaster  on  his  arrival  in  port.  Captain  Pierre 
de  Linkskie,  his  son  Nicolas,  and  Congalton 
were  in  the  cabin,  while  the  remainder  of  the 
crew,  consisting  of  four  men,  were  in  the  fore- 
castle. After  the  vessel  was  overturned  and 
308 


THE  RESCUE 

escape  rendered,  as  it  appeared,  impossible,  the 
captain  succeeded  in  wrenching  open  the  trap 
hatch  in  the  cabin  deck,  thereby  Hberating  some 
casks  that  were  jammed  in  the  lazarette,  where 
also  provisions  were  stored.  Having  effected 
this,  he  scrambled  up  into  the  vacant  space, 
taking  his  son  along  with  him.  He  afterwards 
assisted  Congalton  to  follow.  Meantime  a 
terrible  fight  for  life  was  being  waged  in  the 
forward  part  of  the  vessel,  in  the  midst  of  which 
one  of  the  men  was  drowned.  The  other  three, 
by  seizing  hold  of  the  windlass  bits,  succeeded 
in  getting  up  close  to  the  keelson,  and  so  kept 
their  heads  above  water.  Finding  that  the 
upsetting  of  the  boat  and  the  consequent  dis- 
placement of  the  cargo  had  started  the  bulkhead, 
they  contrived  to  draw  themselves  along  the 
sides  of  the  keelson  towards  the  stern  of  the 
vessel,  where  they  heard  the  voices  of  their  fellow 
prisoners.  Six  individuals  were  thus  closely 
cooped  together  in  this  limited  space,  submerged 
to  the  waist  in  the  sea.  They  were  able  to 
distinguish  between  day  and  night  by  the  hght 
being  reflected  up  through  the  cabin  skylight, 
and  thence  into  the  lazarette  through  the  trap 
309 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

hatch  in  the  cabin  floor.  Two  days  and  two 
nights  thus  passed  without  food,  without  sleep, 
and  almost  without  hope.  They  endeavoured 
to  assuage  the  pangs  of  hunger  by  chewing  the 
bark  stripped  from  the  hoops  of  the  casks,  but 
want  of  renewed  air  threatened  them  with  death 
by  suffocation.  The  captain  laboured  almost 
incessantly  for  these  dreadful  two  days,  en- 
deavouring to  cut  a  hole  through  the  hull,  but 
happily  his  knife  broke,  before  he  succeeded  in 
accomplishing  this  thoughtless  task,  the  result 
of  which,  had  it  been  successful,  must  have 
proved  fatal  to  all,  as  the  confined  air  alone 
maintained  the  vessel's  buoyancy. 

On  the  morning  of  the  third  day,  ere  it  was 
light,  the  derelict  was  struck  heavily,  so  they 
supposed,  by  a  passing  vessel.  As  a  result  of  this 
shock,  another  of  the  poor  fellows  fell  into  the 
hold  and  was  drowned.  The  stern  began  grad- 
ually to  droop,  and  they  thought  all  was  lost. 
The  displacement  of  air  in  the  lazarette  forced 
them  to  move  forward,  in  attempting  which  the 
boy,  who  was  by  this  time  half  dead  from  the 
vitiated  air  and  want  of  food,  missed  his  footing 

and  was  seen  no  more.     The  absence  of  motion 
310 


THE   RESCUE 

excited  hope  that  the  vessel  had  c^rounded.  In 
a  short  time  they  were  sensible  that  the  water 
beneath  them  was  subsiding,  and  after  an  hour 
or  two  of  terrible  suspense,  the  captain  ventured 
down  into  the  cabin.  Part  of  the  quarter-deck 
had  been  stove  in,  and  as  the  water  receded, 
fresh  air  soon  reached  them,  and  revived  the 
spirits  of  the  imprisoned  men.  Then  they  saw 
through  the  riven  timbers  with  unmanning  joy 
the  rosy  flush  of  dawn  breaking  on  the  land. 
Applying  such  implements  as  they  could  lay 
hands  on  with  all  their  remaining  strength,  they 
cut  their  way  through  the  opening  which  had 
been  made  in  the  quarter-deck,  and  found  that 
they  were  stranded  on  one  of  a  small  group  of 
uninhabited  islands  in  the  vast  Pacific.  Fortu- 
nately the  unavailing  attempt  which  had  been 
made  to  capture  the  disabled  vessel,  had  left 
them  in  the  drift  of  the  providential  current  that 
carried  them  to  land.  A  week's  unspeakable 
privations  on  this  inhospitable  island  passed  ere 
their  signals  were  observed  by  a  passing  steamer 
by  which  they  were  picked  up  and  safely  landed 
at  San  Francisco. 

The  news  of  the  miraculous    escape,   briefly 
3" 


DOCTOR    CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

stated,  was  conveyed  to  London  and  Kilbaan 
by  the  same  mail,  but  it  was  not  till  Congalton's 
return  that  the  details,  as  now  recorded,  were 
fully  known.  This  "  Romance  of  the  Sea " 
linked  as  it  inevitably  was  with  Dr.  Congalton's 
legacy,  and  the  interesting  local  events  arising 
out  of  it,  sped  its  course  widely  over  the  world's 
highways,  and  interested  many  there,  as  well  as 
in  the  by-paths  of  this  small  northern  parish. 

Mrs.  Cowie  held  up  bravely  for  two  days,  but 
on  the  third  took  to  her  bed.  It  was  believed 
her  husband  spoke  under  inspiration  when  he 
informed  the  candle-maker  that  she  had  "  slippet 
her  fit  and  got  a  kina  shake  to  her  system." 
The  public  mind,  hou^ever,  was  not  to  be  over- 
ruled by  such  machiavelian  devices,  for  every- 
body knew  she  had  taken  to  bed  over  the  loss 
of  the  Congalton  siller. 

There  was  a  select  party  of  three  in  the  can- 
dle-maker's workshop.  The  time  was  evening, 
and  the  door  was  shut  that  they  might  have 
fuller  license  of  speech.  A  frame  of  candles 
that  had  received  their  final  dip  was  suspended 
over  a  vat  of  coagulating  tallow.  The  candle- 
maker,  having  given  up  work  for  the  day,  was 
312 


THE    RESCUE 

seated  on  an  inverted  barrel,  while  his  two  com- 
panions sat  with  their  backs  to  the  westering 
sun  on  the  bench  near  the  window.  The  collo- 
quist  on  the  barrel  had  just  told  of  Windy-yett's 
remark  as  to  the  cause  of  his  wife's  illness,  and 
wondered  who  had  been  the  first  to  break  the 
tidings  to  her. 

"  It  was  the  minister,"  the  smith  said.  "  He 
got  the  news  from  Isaac  Kilgour  on  the  nicht  o' 
the  marriage,  and  he  had  to  gang  owre  to  the 
Haugh  the  very  next  day  for  Matty  Semple 
was  in  unco  trouble." 

"  Trouble,  said  ye  ?  man,  I  didna  hear  o' 
that."  The  carrier  was  surprised  for  he  had  left 
some  delf  ware  at  the  Haugh  two  days  before. 

"  Weel,  ye  see,  I  got  it  from  William  Lonen 
in  a  kina  secret,  for  the  minister  '11  no  like  it 
named,  Puir  Matty  thocht  her  kye  had  been 
bewitched.  It  was  blamed  on  Nan  Pinkerton, 
richt  or  wrang ;  for  do  what  she  micht  the  milk 
aye  blinked  (turned  sour).  She  had  hung 
horse-shoon  on  the  byre-door,  and  put  branches 
o'  rowan  and  bourtree  roon'  the  wa's  and  even  i' 
the  graip-hole,  still  —  the  milk  blinked,  so,  atlang 
and  last,  she  beet  to  send  for  the  minister," 
3^3 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

"  Weel?"  the  interested  listeners  queried. 

"Weel,  he  let  the  body  tell  her  story  and 
listened  patiently.  Says  he,  '  Martha,'  says  he, 
'  it  seems  to  me  that  the  evil  e'e  has  been  cast, 
no  on  your  cows,  but  on  your  dishes,'  for  he  saw 
they  were  geyan  dirty  —  *  tak'  them  doon  to  the 
burn,'  says  he,  '  and  let  them  lie  there  for  a 
while  in  the  running  water,  and  then  rub  them 
weel  wi'  a  clean  clout,'  says  he,  '  and  when  that 
is  dune  bring  them  in  and  pour  a  kettle-fu'  o' 
boiling  water  on  them,  for  boiling  water  is  a 
thing  the  evil  e'e  canna  stan'.  When  ye  have 
them  weel  scalded,  set  them  on  their  sides  to 
dry,  and  I'se  warrant  your  milk  will  blink  nae 
mair,'  says  he." 

"  Man,  that  was  rale  humorsome  o'  the  min- 
ister," cried  the  carrier.  "  I  aye  allowed  the  min- 
ister had  humour,  though  it's  no  often  he  tak's  oot 
the  spiggot.  I  said  the  same  thing  to  Jaik  Short 
the  ither  day,  but  Jaik  said  if  he  had  humour  he 
must  have  a  fifty-six  on  the  safety  valve." 

"  What  did  puir  Matty  think?  " 

"  Oh,  she  took  it  perfect  serious  and  thocht  it 
was  a  charm.  But  I  begude  wi'  Mrs.  Cowie, 
and  this  leads  me  on.  Weel,  ye  see,  the  minister 
314 


THE    RESCUE 

being  at  the  Haugh,  it  was  but  a  step  up  the 
burnside  and  across  the  knowe  to  the  Cowie's, 
so  what  could  he  do  wi'  the  news  in  his  head, 
but  step  in.  Windy-yett  himsel'  was  oot  i'  the 
lea-field  helping  to  fit  up  a  bothie  for  the  Irish 
shearers,  but  his  wife  was  at  hame,  thrang  put- 
ting things  i'  their  places  after  the  turn  up  the 
nicht  afore !  " 

"  I  alloo  it  was  a  thankless  journey.  Did  she 
break  oot  there  and  then?  "  inquired  the  candle- 
maker,  anxious  to  get  on. 

"  No  then  —  and  this  is  the  queer  bit  o't.  The 
minister  thocht  she  was  gratefu'  to  a  bountifu' 
Providence  for  sparing  Mr,  Congalton's  life, 
but  efter-hin  when  Windy-yett  cam'  in  she 
yoket  on  him,  as  Nance  M'Wee  could  tell,  and 
blamed  him  wi'  this  and  wi'  that,  telt  him  it  was 
a'  through  his  slackness  that  Mr.  Sibbald  hadna 
arranged  for  their  getting  the  hauf  o'  the  doctor's 
siller  —  she  would  do  this  and  that,  and,  so  on  — 
gang  to  the  law  and  spend  their  last  shilling, 
but  she  would  have  the  richts  o't." 

"  So  she  just  angert  hersel'  into  her  bed?" 

The  candle-maker  was  partial  to  immediate 
sequences. 

315 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

"  That  is  no  doubt  true,"  replied  the  smith, 
'•  but  isn't  it  a  mortal  thing  to  see  hoo  a 
woman's  temper  never  fully  gets  the  better  o' 
her  till  she  meets  some  object  weaker  than 
hersel'?" 

This  was  a  problem  in  feminine  ongoings  the 
carrier  had  no  skill  of.  His  sister,  who  was  his 
housekeeper,  had  no  temper  to  speak  of,  never 
having  been  flattered  into  arrogance  by  a  man. 
The  other  two,  thinking  they  were  the  stronger 
vessels  at  home,  could  look  abroad  and  pass 
strictures.  The  smith's  wife,  finding  at  an  early 
stage  which  of  the  two  had  the  stronger  will 
was  wont  to  break  in  tears  on  the  iron  front 
of  her  husband  and  get  her  way.  The  candle- 
maker  admitted  that  it  was  "  a  puzzle  a'thegether. 
Marriage,"  he  said,  "  was  a  double  harness.  A 
man  and  his  wife  might  yoke  fair  to  start  wi', 
but  by  and  by  they  were  sure  to  rin  tandem, 
for  the  stuffy  ane  was  aye  bound  to  work  to  the 
front."  He  had  no  dubiety  in  his  own  mind 
that  he  was  the  "  stuffy  ane,"  for  his  wife  had 
long  been  in  poor  health  —  yet  she  ruled  him  by 
importunity  from  the  invalid's  corner. 

While     they    were    inwardly    congratulating 
316 


THE   RESCUE 

themselves  that  they  had  not  lost  the  reins  like 
Richard  Cowie,  they  heard  the  sneck  of  the 
door  lifting,  and  the  long  spare  form  of 
William  Caughie  entered.  When  William  was 
excited,  he  generally  wore  his  horn  glasses 
above  his  eye-brows.  He  had  also  a  way  of 
"  thrawing  his  mouth,"  and  working  his  attenu- 
ated nose  to  one  side  in  the  pause  of  making  a 
remark,  as  if  he  was  shaping  an  interrogation. 
What  he  had  to  tell  was  that  the  mistress  of 
Windy-yett  had  taken  "  a  terrible  turn  —  a 
shock  or  something,"  and  that  Ritchie  had  come 
"  owre  for  the  doctor  in  a  terrible  pickle." 
William  could  have  diagnosed  the  case  to  his 
own  satisfaction,  for  he  prided  himself  in  having 
a  "by-ord'nar"  knowledge  of  the  human 
structure.  But  on  this  subject  he  had  once  been 
rudely,  as  he  thought,  taken  to  task  by  Tinny 
Walker. 

"  William,"  the  tinsmith  said,  "  ye  have  a 
michty  wye  o'  speaking  aboot  the  organs,  as 
ye  ca'  them,  in  folks'  insides,  as  if  they  were 
great  machines.  Man,  ony  doctor  will  tell  ye 
they  could  a'  be  set  up  and  hae  plenty  o'  room 
in  an  ord'nary  hat-box." 
317 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

For  his  size  William  considered  Walker  the 
"  upsetten'ist  man  i'  the  parish,"  but  he  felt 
the  rebuke.  On  this  occasion  he  only  suggested 
his  suspicion  that  there  was  "  something  no  richt 
about  the  hert." 

"  Or  the  brain,"  supplemented  the  carrier,  "  if 
it  is  a  shock." 

"  Or  the  brain,"  William  admitted,  "  a  strain 
on  the  nervous  system  — that  would  tell  on  the 
brain,  as  like  as  no." 

Bell  and  her  husband  returned  from  their 
honeymoon  sooner  than  was  expected.  They 
had  heard  the  remarkable  news  of  Congalton's 
rescue  in  Edinburgh,  and  had  calmly  talked  over 
the  consequences  to  themselves,  of  this  event. 

Mitchell  was  a  strong,  independent,  self-reliant 
man,  who  vigorously  detested  the  thought  of 
waiting  for  dead  men's  shoes.  His  strength  of 
character  had  already  impressed  Bell,  who  was 
now  more  concerned  about  her  mother's  con- 
dition than  her  own  monetary  misfortune. 

"  Let  us  get  hame  to  the  harvest,"  the  young 

man  said  bravely.     "  I'm  nane  vexed  aboot  your 

loss.  Bell,  for  it  canna  be  a  great  thing  to  lose 

what  ye  never  had.     The  man's  life's   safe,  and 

318 


THE   RESCUE 

that's  better  than  siller ;  honest  work  and  health 
are  great  blessings,  and  wi'  these  we'll  find 
enough  to  do  us  withoot  pinch,  and  there's  this 
comfort,  Bell,  my  lass,  what  we  mak'  wi'  oor 
ain  hands  '11  no  turn  oor  heads." 


319 


CHAPTER    XXV 

THE   SPAE-WIFE   AND    HER    CUPS 

Alec  Brodie,  the  cartwright,  lived  about  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  from  Kilspindie,  at  the  junc- 
tion of  the  crossroads.  The  situation  was  such 
as  to  command  the  work  of  two  parishes.  The 
building  of  which  he  was  proprietor  was  of  one 
storey  with  a  frontage  to  two  roads.  He  and 
his  family  lived  in  one  end,  and  his  workshop 
and  wood-yard  were  at  the  other.  Behind  the 
house  there  was  an  elevation  commanding  the 
west,  on  the  top  of  which  grew  a  few  scraggy 
fir-trees  with  a  strong  inclination  northward. 
This  was  locally  called  the  "  Hill  of  Man," 
but  William  Lonen,  who  was  skilled  in  topo- 
graphy, said  the  name  was  originally  "  Helm- 
end,"  resembling  as  it  did  the  hindermost  part 
of  a  vessel.  The  light  growing  dim  in  the 
320 


THE   SPAE-WIFE   AND   HER   CUPS 

workshop,  Alec  had  retired  to  the  Hill  of  Man 

with  a  book.     He  was  a  great  reader,  a  scholar 

his  wife  called  him.     He  was   known   at  times 

to  write  verses  —  he  drew  the  line  at  sonnets, 

thinking  of  the  school-master  —  but  books  could 

not  be  read  nor  verses  made  in  a  small  cottage 

Hterally  overflowing    with   bairns.     He   did  not 

at  once  take  to  his  book,  for  he  was  thinking 

of  work  that  might  probably  require  to  be  done 

before  morning.    The  near  landscape,  lined  with 

grey  dykes,  and  fringed  at  intervals  with  trees 

and  hedges,  was  blurred  and  dim,  but,  having 

the    poetic  temperament,  he  was  beguiled  into 

strange    imaginings    by    what   he    saw    beyond 

the  line  of  the  material  horizon.     The  sun  itself 

had    disappeared,    and    in    the    wonderful    after 

glow    there    was    sufficient    to    afford    dix'erting 

interest   to    an    imaginative    mind.      The    dark 

and  distant  margin  of  wood  and  moor  seemed 

to    constitute    the  near   boundary    of  a    mighty 

sea,  while  a  remote  bank  of  cloud,  well  up  in 

the  heavens,  served  the    fancy   for    a    horizon. 

What   a   fairy    picture    for   a  homely  man,  but 

nature  is  no  respecter  of  persons.     She  opens 

her  picture  galleries  and  her  concert  chambers 
21  321 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

impartially  to  all  who  have  eyes  to  see  and 
ears  to  hear.  The  cartwright  was  enraptured 
with  this  mysterious  liquidity  of  colour,  this 
primrose  softness,  varying  in  tone  from  salmon- 
tint  to  lightest  azure.  There  were  capes  and 
islands,  purple  and  rosy  with  sunset,  great  bays 
fringed  with  golden  sand,  and  argosies  that 
might  be  freighted  with  the  treasured  glories 
of  oriental  climes.  Towards  the  nearer  shore, 
marling  the  straw-toned  water,  long  streaks  of 
wavy  grey  rolled  inward,  and  in  combination 
with  a  light  intermittent  wind  in  the  pine-trees 
over  the  cartwright's  head,  completed  the  illusion 
of  motion  and  sound. 

"  Most  mortal,"  he  said,  thoughtless  of  the 
incongruity  of  the  exclamation,  "  I  ken  fine 
it's  no  real,  but  it's  terrible  naitral-like.  A  body 
never  could  put  that  sea-picture  in  words ;  but 
if  I  was  an  artist  I'm  thinking  I'd  have  a  bash 
at  it  wi'  a  brush.  After  a',  when  a  body  thinks 
o't,  the  colours  were  never  made  that  could 
clap  doon  on  paper  or  canvas  either,  the 
onspeakable  beauty  o'  a  scene  like  that."  He 
turned  to  his  book  —  it  was  already  almost  too 

dark   to   see,    but    he    had    read    the    passage 
322 


THE   SPAE-WIFE   AND   HER  CUPS 

before  he  left  the  workshop,  it  had  struck  his 
fancy  — 

"  As  doctors  give  physic  by  way  of  prevention, 
Mat  alive  and  in  health  of  his  tombstone  took  care ; 
For  delays  are  unsafe,  and  his  pious  intention 
May  haply  be  never  fulfilled  by  his  heir. 

"  Then  take  Mat's  word  for  it,  the  sculptor  is  paid ; 
That  the  figure  is  fine  pray  believe  your  own  eye ; 
Yet  credit  but  lightly  what  more  may  be  said, 
For  we  flatter  ourselves  and  teach  marble  to  lie." 


Brodie  had  accidentally  come  across  a  selection 
of  old  Matthew  Prior's  poems,  and  being,  from 
the  exigencies  of  his  business,  in  the  under- 
taking line  himself,  it  was  natural  his  fancy 
should  go  out  to  a  man  who  had  such  provident 
forethought  as  to  supply  his  own  tombstone, 
and  take  care  that  his  Epitaph  was  honestly 
carved  on  it,  while  yet  in  life.  These  reflections, 
however,  were  broken  by  the  approach  of  his 
eldest  son,  whose  head  was  seen  in  the  dim 
light  as  he  waded  up  hill  among  the  tall 
brackens. 

"Weal,  Alickie,"   he  inquired,  stepping  down 
to  meet  him,  "what's  the    news?     Is  she  ony 

better?" 

323 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

"No;  she's  fast  sinking,  they  ettle  she'll 
hardly  win  by  the  turn  o'  the  nicht." 

"  Did  ye  see  Winny  himsel'?  " 

"  No,  he  was  sitting  owre  his  bible  at  the 
fire-en,  but  Nance  tell'd  me." 

"  Weel,  laddie,  we  canna  stay  the  gaun  fit  o' 
death.  We  maun  be  stepping  doon  to  the  shop 
—  ye  can  look  oot  the  strauchtin'  biod,  and  I'll 
get  the  timmer  put  in  order."  He  had  a  con- 
tract for  the  parish  coffins  at  13.?.  6c/.  each, 
but  this  one  could  afford  a  fuller  margin  of 
profit.  "  It'll  no  hurry  the  puir  body  nane, 
Alickie,  still  ther's  nae  hairni  in  being  ready  for 
death  when  it  comes." 

The  cartwright  was  a  man  of  fine  sentiment, 
but  being  the  responsible  head  of  a  large  and 
needy  family,  he  couldn't  afford  it  much  indulg- 
ence when  profitable  work  came  his  way.  Brodie 
and  his  son  sawed  and  planed  till  midnight,  but 
no  summons  came  —  a  "strauchtin'  brod  "  for 
the  poor  shattered  demented  mind  was  what  the 
mistress  of  Windy-yett  required  just  then.  As 
to  the  covering  for  her  mortal  remains,  Alec 
Brodie  need  not  have  been  in  such  oracular 
haste. 

324 


THE   SPAE-WIFE   AND    HER   CUPS 

The  crops  had  been  safely  gathered  at  the 
Mains,  under  favourable  weather  conditions. 
The  harvest  had  been  abundant,  and  the  sun, 
well  pleased  with  the  completion  of  his  work, 
was  smiling  out  of  the  west  on  Willie  Mitchell's 
well-filled  stack-)ard.  Bell  sat  knitting  alone 
in  her  sanded  kitchen.  A  kettle  was  singing 
on  the  hob,  and  the  black  Persian  cat  in  front 
of  the  fire  lay  winking  with  dignified  satis- 
faction as  it  contemplated  the  antics  of  the 
kitten  playing  with  the  young  housewife's 
worsted.  The  kitchen-maid  had  been  sent 
over  to  Windy-yett  to  inquire  for  the  invalid. 
Physically  there  had  been  a  partial  recovery, 
but  the  strong  will  was  broken  and  the  memory 
gone.  Marriage  and  this  home-trouble  had 
sobered  Bell.  Her  flightiness  had  toned  down. 
She  had  come  to  understand  by  the  patient 
teaching  of  her  husband  that  happiness  was  an 
attitude  of  the  mind  arising  out  of  a  sense  of 
duty  honestly  done.  Providence  had  given  her 
a  comfortable  home,  the  best  of  husbands,  a 
sufficiency  for  all  her  wants,  and  she  was 
content.  At  times  her  school  days  in  Edin- 
burgh, the  girlish  dreams  of  making  conquests 
325 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

and  marrying  into  social  position,  stimulated 
by  the  inordinate  ambition  of  her  mother,  came 
back  to  her  mind,  but  only  to  convict  her  of 
folly.  Could  the  artificial  atmosphere  of  society 
in  which,  from  her  superficial  education  and 
rustic  training,  she  was  ill-fitted  to  live,  afford 
her  the  solid  and  simple  happiness  she  now 
enjoyed?  In  her  clean  sanded  kitchen  she 
could  receive  her  country  friends  and  neigh- 
bours like  a  queen.  In  the  drawing-room 
both  she  and  they  would  have  been  out  of 
place,  ill  at  ease,  and — such  things  have  hap- 
pened —  she  might  have  been  coward  enough 
to  be  ashamed  of  them  and  their  ways.  There 
was  a  matronly  seriousness  about  the  plump 
comely  face  as  these  reflections  flitted  through 
her  mind.  Then  she  smiled,  for  she  remem- 
bered her  poor  mother's  injunctions.  She  had 
smiled  many  a  time  to  order,  but  the  resultant 
conquest  happily,  as  she  now  thought,  had 
not  been  made.  What  lasting  happiness  could 
come  of  conscious  acting?  Her  husband  had 
been  drawn  to  her  before  she  had  thought  of 
him    as    a   lover.     Indeed,  and    this    made   her 

wonder,  it  was  when  she   showed  the    greatest 
326 


THE   SPAE-WIFE   AND   HER   CUPS 

indifference  that  he  became  most  vehement  in 
his  attachment.  How  deliglitful,  she  thought, 
for  the  lover  to  find  out  when  he  became 
a  husband,  that  his  wife  had  a  reserve  of 
charms ;  but  what  must  it  be  in  the  severe 
disiUusionment  of  married  Hfe  when  the  actress 
has  been  found  out?  Bell  raised  her  eyes 
from  the  twinkling  wires  and  gazed  out  of 
the  window  with  softly  parted  lips.  The 
wistful  face  was  beautiful.  Her  eyes,  dreamy 
and  expectant,  wandered  over  the  foreland  of 
heath  and  furze,  and  the  grey  stubble  of  shorn 
fields,  to  the  long  white  ribbon  of  a  road  that 
lay  beyond.  This  was  the  way  by  which  her 
husband  would  return  from  Kilburnie  market. 
She  did  not  really  expect  him  for  an  hour  yet, 
nevertheless  her  hungering  eyes  had  several 
times  traversed  this  meandering  road  fondly, 
as  if  to  anticipate  her  own  expectations.  A 
shadow  darkened  the  window  for  a  second, 
and  passed  ere  she  could  focus  her  vision  to 
the  nearer  object,  next  moment  a  small 
black-eyed  woman,  in  a  drab  cloak  that 
draped  the  figure  to  her  ankles,  stood  in  the 
doorway. 

327 


DOCTOR  CONGALTON'S  LEGACY 

"  Guid  e'en  to  ye,  Mistress  Bell,"  said  the 
visitor,  dipping  her  body  till  the  hem  of  her 
cloak  touched  the  doorstep.  The  apparition 
was  Nan  Pinkerton  of  the  Haugh. 

"  Good-evening,"  replied    Bell   with    a  slight 

look   of  trouble  in   her  eyes.     The  house-maid 

had    told   her  that   Matty   Semple   blamed    her 

neighbour,   the   hen   wife,    for   casting   the    evil 

eye   on   her  cows.     Bell   had   said  she  did  not 

believe    it.       Only    people    who    were   without 

education  fancied  such  things ;  yet  she  did  not 

appreciate  this  visit  all  alone  by  herself  in  the 

gloaming.     Bell  had  known  Nan  from  her  own 

childhood.       She    was    peculiar,    reserved,    and 

made  pretence  of  sibylline  knowledge.     She  was 

excommunicated   by  the   Rev.  Dr.  Someril  for 

spae-craft  and  contumacy,  after  spacing  Beeny 

Wauchops'  fortune  (Beeny  was  a  light  creature 

and    went    wrong    with    black    Will    Gibb    the 

gamekeeper),  but  though  Mr.  Maconkey — Dr. 

Someril's  successor,   wished   to    restore  to    her 

the  privileges  of  the  Church,  she  refused  to  be 

reinstated.      Nan     was    an    authority    on    the 

concoction  of  herbs,  and  her  specific  for  "  chin 

cough"  was  believed  in  by  not  a  few  matrons  in 
328 


THE   SPAE-WIFE  AND    HER   CUPS 

her  own  and  neighbouring  parishes.  In  theory 
Bell  was  not  superstitious,  but  she  was  alone, 
and  it  was  as  well  to  be  civil. 

"Wont  ye  come  in  owre  and  rest?"  she  said, 
setting  a  chair  with  a  straw-matted  seat  in  front 
of  the  fire.  "  Now  that  the  harvest  is  in,  the 
evenings  are  getting  cauld." 

Nan  in  her  moods  had  the  abruptness  of 
masculinity. 

"  I  had  a  dream  aboot  ye  last  night,"  she 
said,  "  and  cam'  owre  to  drink  a  cup  o'  tea  wi' 
ye  to  see  gin  it  be  true." 

"  I  hope  it  vvasna  an  ill  dream,"  replied  Bell, 
smiling  only  with  her  lips.  The  spae-wife  was 
silent  for  a  moment,  her  dark  glittering  eyes 
fixed  on  the  glowing  fire. 

"  Guid  or  ill,  true  or  fause,  I  daurna  tell  till  I 
see  it  i'  the  cups." 

"  I  winna  grudge  ye  a  cup  o'  tea,"  said  Bell, 
taking  her  keys  and  going  to  the  corner  cup- 
board —  "  but "  —  should  she  tell  her  visitor  she 
did  not  believe  in  spae-craft?  After  all  would 
such  a  statement  be  absolutely  true?  "I'm 
afraid  I  don't  want  my  fortune  told,"  was  all 
she  said. 

329 


DOCTOR  CONGALTON'S  LEGACY 

"Ay,"  remarked  the  Sibyl  grimly,  "ye  have 
gotten  your  guid  man,  and  think  there  is  nothing 
in  life  worth  kennin'  after  that ;  ye  want  things 
to  go  on  as  they  are,  but  that  canna  be. 
Fortunes  will  whiles  forecast  themselves  without 
our  speiring.  If  my  dream  reads  right  ye  have 
nothing  to  fear,  but  it  maun  be  in  your  ain  cup 
I  read  it." 

Bell  brought  out  the  brown  tea-pot  and  caddie 
with  trembling  curiosity.  "  Do  ye  like  it 
strong?"  Nan  took  the  spoon  out  of  the  young 
wife's  hand  and  measured  the  "masking;  " 
then  taking  a  little  box  from  her  pocket 
containing  a  whitish  powder  she  covered  a  small 
silver  coin  with  the  mixture  and  shook  it  in  on 
the  top  of  the  dry  tea.  Bell  was  then  directed 
to  half  fill  the  tea-pot  with  boiling  water,  and 
set  the  cups.  The  rite  was  impressive  in  its 
ceremoniousness. 

"  A  year  syne  I  drank  tea  wi'  your  mother." 

"Did  she  believe  i'  the  cups?"  inquired  Bell 
in  astonishment.  She  had  never  heard  of  such 
a  thing. 

"Ay  she  was  in  a  hurry  to  forecast  something 
that  was  in  her  mind,  but,  as  whiles  happens, 
S30 


THE   SPAE-WIFE   AND   HER   CUPS 

the  reading  wasna  clear,  the  same  mischance 
aye  turned  up;  something  connected  with  the 
sea." 

"  Connected  with  the  sea !  "  cried  Bell,  then 
she  bit  her  lips  and  went  over  to  the  window. 
If  the  spae-wife  herself  did  not  know  how  fully 
that  misfortune  had  been  realized  she  would  not 
betray  the  secret.  Her  poor  mother !  Bell  was 
pale  and  her  hand  shook  as  she  poured  out  the 
tea  according  to  the  directions  of  her  guest. 
First  the  guest's  cup  was  to  be  filled,  then  the 
tea-pot  was  to  be  shaken  with  circular  motion 
from  left  to  right,  after  that  the  person  whose 
fortune  fell  to  be  revealed  was  to  fill  her  own 
cup.  They  sipped  the  tea  in  silence.  As  Nan 
gazed  thoughtfully  into  the  fire  a  live  coal  fell 
on  the  hearth. 

"  Na,  ye  mauna  touch  it,"  exclaimed  the  elder 
woman,  as  Bell  rose  to  replace  it.  "  That's  a 
coming  guest  that  ye'll  no  wish  to  leave  your 
hearth  in  a  hurry.  My  dream  is  already  half 
read,  but  we'll  aiblins  see  the  rest  here."  She 
lifted  the  cup  which  Bell  had  laid  down,  whirled 
the  dregs  round  the  sides,  and  then  commenced 
her  scrutiny  of  divination.  The  withered  eye- 
331 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

lids  were  puckered  with  a  moment's  concentra- 
tion, but  the  wrinkles  soon  gave  place  to  a  look 
of  satisfaction. 

"It's  e'en  as  I  jaloused,"  she  said;  "I  see 
your  visitor  coming  doon  frae  the  lift." 

"  From  the  lift  ?"  cried  Bell,  "  then  it  canna 
be  man  or  woman  either." 

"  It's  neither  man  nor  woman,  it's  an  angel. 
I  see  ye  baith  lifting  hauns  till  it  wi'  joy  on  your 
faces.  There  is  gear  and  happiness  to  come  — 
efter-hin." 

"  Oh,  Nan,"  cried  Bell,  interrupting,  "  here's 
my  husband."  The  wheels  craunched  sharply 
into  the  yard  as  Bell  with  crimson  face  rushed 
to  the  door.  In  a  moment  Mitchell  had  leaped 
from  his  seat,  and  taking  his  wife  in  his  arms 
kissed  her.  "  I  have  heard  something  ye'll  no 
guess,"  he  said,  leading  her  towards  the  kitchen 
door. 

"  What  ?  "  inquired  Bell  rather  flurried. 

"  Mr.  Congalton  has  come  back,  and,  dis- 
appointed no  doubt  that  ye  were  beyond  his 
reach,  has  married  the  little  governess.  Have 
ye  visitors  ?  "  He  paused  at  the  door,  catching 
sight  of  the  spae-wife  and  the  cups,  then  a 
33^ 


THE   SPAE-WIFE   AND   HER   CUPS 

visible  shadow  of  displeasure  settled  on  his 
face. 

"  It's  only  Nan  Pinkerton,"  said  Bell,  •'  she 
has  been  bringing  us  good  news." 

"Ay,"  said  the  visitor,  getting  to  her  feet  at 
the  sight  of  the  young  farmer's  frown,  "  men 
are  owre  wise  to  believe  in  auld  wives'  freits. 
I'm  no  welcome,  I  see,  but  I  didna  come  up  to 
the  Mains  to  pleasure  mysel'."  Nan  gathered 
her  cloak  about  her,  set  her  face  to  the  door 
and  disappeared  in  the  gloaming.  Mitchell's 
head  fell  on  his  breast  as  if  stunned;  then  he 
took  his  wife  again  in  his  arms  while  his  voice 
trembled  with  yearning  solicitude. 

"  Bell,"  he  said  earnestly,  "  was  this  your 
seeking  ?  " 

"  No,  Will  —  no,"  she  replied,  seeing  his  mean- 
ing and  trying  to  keep  back  the  tears.  "  Nan 
came  while  I  was  waiting  for  you.  She  had  a 
dream  about  us,  and  asked  for  a  cup  of  tea.  I 
couldna  refuse,  for  I  thought  she  was  tired." 

"  I'm  glad  ye  didna  tryst  her.  What  was  her 
dream?" 

"  Some  angel  guest  that  would  come  wi'  hap- 
piness for  us  baith  —  and  gear."  The  young 
333 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

farmer  looked  at  his  wife  with  wistful  tenderness. 
There  needed  no  spae-craft  to  predict  the 
probability  of  a  welcome  visitant,  nature  had 
told  him  that;  but  the  emphasis  put  on  the  gear 
vexed  him. 

"  It  s  the  old  story,  Bell,'  he  said,  putting  his 
arm  round  her  waist  kindly,  and  smoothing  her 
hair.  "  Some  guid  we  hinna  got  that's  coming. 
Oh  lass,  lass,  we're  gey  happy  for  the  present, 
but  dinna  put  foret  the  nock  as  I  ance  asked 
leave  to  do,  and  try  to  force  what's  hidden  from 
us.  The  wish  to  possess  ither  folk's  gear  has 
wrocht  muckle  ill.  Thrift  and  work  will  bring 
a'  worldly  things  we  need,  and  happiness  alang 
wi'  them.  Now,"  he  said,  holding  her  at  arm's 
length  and  looking  loviiigly  into  the  soft  eyes 
that  were  ready  to  overflow  with  tears,  "  I'll  put 
in  the  powny  while  you  set  the  tea,  and  after 
that  I'll  tell  ye  a'  aboot  Mr.  Congalton's 
marriage." 


334 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

CONCLUSION 

It  was  late  on  a  golden  afternoon  in  the 
second  month  of  autumn,  a  year  after  the 
events  of  last  chapter,  when  Isaac  Kilgour 
passed  his  brother-in-law  on  the  road  without 
recognition  and  climbed  the  hill  slowly  towards 
the  kirkyard.  He  had  a  small  basket  in  his 
hand  filled  with  fresh-cut  flowers.  The  gate 
to  the  sacred  enclosure  was  massive  and  heavy. 
It  had  recently  been  donated  to  the  parish  by 
the  laird  of  Templemains  on  the  occasion  of  his 
being  made  an  elder.  It  was  curiously  wrought 
and  fashioned  between  two  substantial  pillars, 
and  bore  several  suitable  scriptural  quotations 
amongst  the  fret-work  of  its  design,  "  I  am 
the  Resurrection  and  the  Life,"  "  Dead  yet 
speaketh,"  "  Whoso  bclieveth  on  Me  shall 
335 


DOCTOR  CONGALTON'S  LEGACY 

never  die,"  might  be  read  with  comfort  by  the 
spiritually  minded,  though  to  the  sorrowing 
unbelievers,  if  such  there  were  in  the  parish, 
these  familiar  texts  could  but  add  mockery  to 
their  grief.  Isaac  laid  down  his  little  basket, 
for  it  required  both  hands  and  all  his  strength 
to  operate  against  the  powerful  spring  intended 
to  resist  bovine  curiosity  and  intrusion.  The 
sacred  acre  was  enclosed  by  a  wall  which  on 
three  sides  rose  but  a  few  feet  above  the  level 
of  the  graves.  In  the  central  space  stood  frag- 
ments of  the  old  church  with  one  gable  and 
a  window  intact.  Slabs  of  marble  around  the 
remaining  walls  referred  in  terms  of  affection 
to  early  pastors  whose  labours  were  closed.  At 
the  gable-end,  a  modern  granite  monument, 
with  heavy  protecting  chains  looping  it  to  suit- 
able corner  pieces,  testified  that  it  was  erected 
by  a  loving  people  to  the  memory  of  the  Rev. 
Dr.  Someril,  "  the  sainted  pastor  of  the  parish." 
The  mossy  sward  all  around  was  ribbed  with 
graves.  Stones  and  slabs  of  varying  sizes,  facing 
promiscuous  ways,  and  standing  in  various  de- 
grees of  erectness,  were  scattered  over  the  place, 
bearing  local  names  —  many  of  them  frequently 


CONCLUSION 

written  in  this  Chronicle.  Isaac  stepped  slowly 
and  reverently  over  the  mossy  mounds.  The 
spot  he  came  to  visit  was  not  seen  from  the 
entrance-gate,  having  its  situation  off  the  west 
side  of  the  chapel  wall.  It  was  the  sweetest 
little  space  in  the  whole  enclosure,  level,  turfed 
with  evergreen  grass  and  closely  shaven.  This 
soft,  cool,  well  made  bed,  was  strewn  with 
flowers  tenderly  laid  there  the  day  before,  and 
now  again  the  reticent  attendant  had  come  to 
perform  the  daily  ministrations  of  "  happing 
his  bairn "  with  flowers.  At  the  head  of  this 
plot  there  was  an  Ionic  cross,  delicately  worked 
in  white  marble,  and  set  in  thin  graduated 
blocks  of  red  granite.  The  inscription  carved 
on  the  marble  was  simple  —  "Eva  Congalton 
aged  8."  Then  followed  the  words  worked 
into  the  circle  round  the  cross.  "  Bless  Thy 
little  Lamb  to-night."  Isaac  gathered  up  the 
discarded  blooms  and  put  down  the  fresh  ones. 
To  him  this  was  a  sacred  duty  like  saying  his 
prayers.  As  he  retired  a  few  steps  to  survey 
the  spot,  his  eye  instinctively  travelled  from 
the  grave  to  the  cross.  "  Her  ain  words,  puir 
lammie,  as  she  lay  doon  weariet  to  her  last 
"  337 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

sleep."  The  gardener  loved  the  stimulating 
influence  of  a  pipe  when  in  a  thoughtful  mood, 
but  he  would  not  smoke  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  this  grave;  he  however  sat  down  on  the 
kirkyard  wall  to  think.  The  master  and  Miss 
Hetty  (it  was  them  he  was  thinking  of  then) 
were  now  happily  married,  and  settled  in 
London,  but  they  had  left  him  and  Janet  "  in 
chairge  o'  the  bairn."  He  was  thinking  also 
in  his  own  unlettered  way  that  a  well-developed 
sense  is  sometimes  more  helpful  than  genius. 
Hetty  had  written  about  her  cousin  Willie  who 
was  at  last  making  his  fortune  in  a  tea  and 
coffee  plantation  in  India,  not  by  mental  gifts, 
but  by  the  accidental  discovery  of  an  abnor- 
mal power  of  smell  and  taste.  Miss  Hazlet 
was  married  to  the  parish  minister  of  Kilbaan, 
and  her  parents  by  her  husband's  desire  re- 
turned to  close  the  evening  of  their  days  at 
the  old  manse.  The  pension  to  Isaac  and  his 
wife  had  been  indubitably  secured  to  them. 
He  could  make  more  than  his  rent  out  of  the 
manse  garden  by  a  few  days'  work  in  spring, 
so  that  there  was  no  call  to  go  afield,  and 
certainly  no  employment  would  be  accepted 
338 


CONCLUSION 

that  interfered  with  his  daily  care  of  this  little 
grave.  Sitting  there  looking  out  over  the  vil- 
lage he  was  reminiscently  happy.  A  column 
of  blue  smoke  swayed  on  the  still  air  above 
the  smithy.  A  horse  neighed  at  the  door, 
and  the  hammer  rang  inside  on  the  anvil. 
Several  men  sat  apart  on  the  parapet  of  the 
bridge  and  smoked.  Tinny  Walker  (he  was 
known  by  his  size)  had  his  shoulder  close  to 
the  candle-maker's  elbow,  while  the  latter  leant 
over  his  own  half  door  with  his  hands  clasped 
before  him  contemplating  the  wall  of  the 
smith's  garden.  Isaac's  eye  travelled  up  the 
village  street  between  the  colouring  hedges 
towards  Broomfields.  It  was  the  spot  in  all 
the  landscape  most  pregnant  with  memories  to 
him.  William  Caughie  came  out  of  his  door 
to  join  the  carrier  as  he  passed  leisurely  down 
the  brae,  but  to  Isaac  they  were  not  consciously 
in  the  scene.  His  thought  had  the  scope  of 
many  years  and  many  recollections,  embracing 
humour,  sentiment  of  a  kind,  and  tragedy,  but 
in  and  out  amongst  the  warp  and  woof  of  his 
musings  there  appeared  the  sweet  sympathetic 
face  of  an  unselfish  woman,  and  the  thoughtful 
339 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

prattle  of  an  eager  questioning  child.  The 
sun  was  more  than  half  under  the  peak  of  the 
Baidlands,  but  it  splintered  a  lance  in  the 
Holm  woods  below  Kirdy's  cairn,  amongst 
foliage  that  gleamed  with  the  pathetic  beauty 
of  decay.  Nearer,  the  river  stole  beneath, 
mostly  in  shadow;  at  times  its  course  was  deep 
and  slumbrous ;  anon  leaving  a  pebbly  strand 
on  one  side ;  it  would  swing  brokenly  under  the 
shoulder  of  a  protecting  bank,  caper  for  a  space 
among  the  grey  boulders,  then  thread  the  eye  of 
the  distant  bridge,  and  disappear  at  last  among 
the  bent  covered  dunes.  While  Isaac  sat  a 
dog-cart  rattled  round  the  corner  of  the  mer- 
chant's house,  and  caught  his  eye.  He  recog- 
nized it  as  belonging  to  Coultarmains.  The 
appearance  of  this  dog-cart  had  evidently  pro- 
vided him  with  a  fresh  train  of  thought,  for  he 
turned  his  head  and  his  eye  rested  on  the 
brown  mound  of  a  newly-made  grave.  Almost 
simultaneously  the  heavy  gate  was  pushed 
gently  open,  and  a  youthful  matron,  dressed 
in  black,  stepped  timidly  over  the  intervening 
spaces  towards  the  spot  on  which  Isaac's  eye 
rested,  and,  stooping  reverently,  she  placed  a 
340 


CONCLUSION 

wreath  of  fresh  flowers  on  her  mother's  grave. 
Poor  Bell  —  and  yet,  why  poor?  Two  months 
before  the  little  guest,  which  Nan  Pinkerton 
had  foreseen  hastening  to  her  from  the  "  lift," 
had  come  and  nestled  cosily  in  her  bosom. 
Was  she  indeed  an  angel  paying  the  youthful 
couple  only  a  passing  visit?  At  present  she 
was  daintily  human,  but  whether  she  was  to 
develop  wings  and  use  them  need  not  trouble 
the  reader  of  these  closing  lines ;  as  yet  the 
wings  were  not  even  in  bud.  The  small  asser- 
tive mite  of  a  guest  had  come  to  count  in  the 
census  returns,  while  the  active,  masterful,  well- 
intentioned,  but  not  over-prudent  grandmother 
had  passed  humbly  within  the  kirkyard  wall, 
without  knowledge  of  the  advent.  Bell  whis- 
pered her  mother's  name.  If  she  could  but 
know  —  oh,  if  she  could  see  and  apprehend  the 
joy  which  the  priceless  treasure  had  brought 
into  their  home,  she  would  forget  all  her  dis- 
appointments. If  she  had  been  worldly,  if  she 
had  been  ambitious.  Bell  felt  it  had  all  been 
for  her  own  sake.  Now,  when  the  truest  and 
purest  happiness  that  earth  could  give  had  been 
attained,  she  could  only  whisper  her  gratitude 
341 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

to  the  inanimate  earth.  Isaac  considerately 
took  his  departure  unseen,  while  these  regret- 
ful reflections  were  passing  through  Bell's  mind. 
By  and  by  she  left  the  new-made  grave.  There 
are  friendly  visits  to  pay  even  in  a  kirkyard, 
especially  here,  where  grave  was  linked  to  grave 
by  friendly  or  neighbourly  association.  The 
grave  of  the  grim  but  kindly  old  humourist 
whose  last  testament  had  bred  such  trouble 
was  naturally  suggested  to  Bell's  mind  by  this 
visit  to  her  mother's  grave.  From  Dr.  Con- 
galton's  place  of  sepulture  it  was  but  a  few 
steps  over  the  mossy  grass  to  the  small  enclo- 
sure with  the  marble  cross.  This  dainty  spot, 
bright  with  the  fresh  flowers,  had  a  tenderer 
interest  to  Bell  now  that  she  had  a  grave  and 
a  child  of  her  own.  She  thought  of  the  bright 
face  and  the  clever  English  tongue,  now,  like 
the  others,  at  rest  beneath.  Had  her  mother's 
wishes  been  fulfilled  she  might  have  been  a 
mother  to  her  —  A  mother?  Bell  wondered  if 
that  could  have  been  possible  now  that  she 
realized  the  intense  love  and  self-forgetful 
tenderness  she  felt  for  her  own  child.  Her 
reverie  was  broken  by  the  sound  of  a  voice  at 
342 


CONCLUSION 

her  side.  On  looking  round  she  recognized  the 
postman. 

"  I  saw  ye  frae  the  road,"  he  said,  "  and 
JLimpit  the  wa' ;  it'll  save  me  a  walk  to  the 
Mains."  The  letter  he  gave  her  was  addressed 
to  herself,  and  bore  the  London  postmark. 
Bell  was  nervously  curious,  and  broke  the  seal 
where  she  stood.  The  writing  was  in  an  un- 
familiar hand,  and  evidently  difficult  to  read, 
but  she  spellec'  through  it  with  her  lips  parted. 
Her  face  flushed  and  her  eyes  sparkled  as  she 
caught  its  purport.  With  the  open  letter  in  her 
hand,  sh^  ran  with  forgetful  gladness  to  the 
grave  on  which  her  flower  wreath  lay. 

"  Mother  —  mother  —  "  she. whispered  in  sup- 
pressed intensity  of  joy,  "  all  has  come  right  at 
last— at  last:  "  then  frightened  at  the  sound  of 
her  own  voice  and  the  odd  eeriness  of  the  situa- 
tion, she  hastened  back  to  the  road  where  the 
boy  was  waiting  with  the  dog-cart,  and  drove 
quickly  away. 

When  she  arrived  at  Coultarmains,  her  hus- 
band was  at  the  top  of  a  ladder  putting  an  armful 
of  fresh  thatch  on  one  of  the  numerous  stacks 
of  oats  with  which  the  farmhouse  was  flanked 
343 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

on  three  sides,  while  her  father,  who  had  just 
returned  from  a  neighbouring  market,  stood 
below  shouting  up  the  current  prices  of  such 
agricultural  stuffs  as  they  were  mutually  inter- 
ested in.  Bell's  heart  beat  fast,  and  her  limbs 
trembled  with  excitement  as  she  ran  forward  to 
salute  her  father. 

"  Come  doon,  Will,"  she  cried,  "  and  come  in 
baith,  for  I  have  great  news  to  tell  ye."  She 
hurried  off,  and  when  the  men  reached  the  house 
the  young  mother  was  on  her  knees,  with  head 
buried  out  of  sight  in  the  cradle,  talking  in 
broken  language  to  a  red  wry-faced  pigmy,  into 
whose  unwilling  ear  she  was  endeavouring  to 
convey  the  idea  that  she  would  be  a  "  michty 
leddy"  }'et. 

"  What's  this  great  news,  Bell?  "  inquired  her 
husband. 

"  Read  that,"  she  said  proudly,  handing  the 
letter  to  Will.  Then  addressing  her  father  — 
"  Mr.  Congalton  has  made  owre  his  daughter's 
share  o'  the  doctor's  legacy  to  oor  bairn." 

"  I  thocht  we  had  dune  wi'  that  job,"  said 
Windy-yett  shortly.    "  Whare  got  ye  the  letter?  " 

"  From  the  post  lad."  Then  she  lowered  her 
344 


CONCLUSION 

voice ;  "  it  was  put  into  my  hand  within  sicht  d 
the  three  graves!  " 

The  young  farmer  read  the  letter  gravely,  and 
went  back  on  certain  portions  of  it,  while  Bell 
followed  his  eyes,  and  tried  to  read  the  frank 
but  serious  face.  She  remembered  certain  con- 
versations that  had  taken  place  since  their  mar- 
riage regarding  Dr.  Congalton's  money,  and  the 
decided  opinions  he  had  held  regarding  it;  but 
while  she  endorsed  his  sentiments  then,  it  was 
now  too  apparent  that  the  influence  of  heredity 
was  not  wholly  eradicated. 

••  Well,"  she  inquired  timidly,  almost  fearing 
what  he  might  say. 

"  It's  a  very  kind  and  generous  letter,"  he 
replied  slowly,  "  but  as  your  father  says  I  thocht 
we  had  dune  wi'  this  job.  The  doctor's  siller 
has  brocht  ill-luck  and  trouble  enough  already. 
I'm  real  —  real  sorry  to  see  you  so  built  up  in  it, 
Bell,  for  I  thocht  we  had  come  to  an  under- 
standing aboot  it  lang  syne." 

"  But  it's  a  gift,"  she  argued,  "  no  a  legacy. 
Besides  —  "  (the  tears  were  coming),  "can  we 
refuse  if  it's  a  gift  to  the  bairn?  " 

"  There  may  be  ither  bairns,"  he  said  gently ; 
345 


DOCTOR   CONGALTON'S   LEGACY 

"if  that  be  sae  let  them  a'  be  ahke  to  us,  we'll 
gie  them  what  we  can  afford,  and  teach  them  sic 
notions  as  becomes  their  station.  I'm  sure 
you're  far  owre  wise  a  lass  to  wish  that  this  wee 
thing  because  o'  the  siller  should  grow  up  to  look 
doon  on  the  lave." 

Bell  gazed  helplessly  at  her  father. 

"  Willie's  richt,"  he  said,  "  no  good  can  come 
to  man  or  woman  either  by  being  pitch-forked 
cot  o'  their  place." 

"  Bell  is  a  kind  and  reasonable  lass,"  her 
husband  said,  rising  and  kissing  her.  "  We're 
richer  in  ae  sense  for  this  generous  offer,  but  I'm 
sure  when  we  come  to  talk  the  matter  owre 
calmly  atween  oorsel's.  Bell  will  agree  wi'  me  in 
doing  what  is  richt." 


THE   END. 


346 


C^v  y 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LipARYFACIU^^^^^ 


A  A      000  266  408    4 


